Capsule review from the "Goings On About Town" section of this week's New Yorker:

Quote from: Michael Schulman, The New Yorker, 18 April 2025In his historic career, Stephen Sondheim stripped the American musical of its schmaltz, tapping into the curdled emotions underneath.  In Stephen Sondheim's Old Friends, a posthumous revue imported from the West End, the producer Cameron Mackintosh and the director Matthew Bourne smear it back on, giving Sondheim's complicated œuvre the sheen of supper-club entertainment.  Bernadette Peters and Lea Salonga lead the cast, decked out in spangles and tuxes, as they cycle through the hits —"Send in the Clowns," "Broadway Baby," "The Ladies Who Lunch"— and deploy the occasional kickline.  The evening lacks Sondheim's ironic bite, but, if you love his musicals, you could do worse than hearing Peters, his preëminent muse, sing "Losing My Mind." Featuring Beth Leavel, for shameless scene-stealing.   —Michael Schulman (Samuel J. Friedman; through June 15.)

This captures my relatively low enthusiasm for seeing this show, despite the considerable draws of its glittering cast and apparently lavish production.  I'd watch it for the price of a pair of movie tickets (either cinecast or streaming at home) happily enough; but when it comes to B'way prices, I'd rather spend the money on Floyd Collins or any of several other shows.

"Tapping into the curdled emotions underneath" has been its own showbizzy Sondheim cliché since at least Company, and while Schulman frames it as a strength, I'd love to live in a world where that wasn't regarded as SJS's primary innovation — or better, one where it wasn't still regarded as the necessary (or the only imaginable) counterreaction to traditional "schmaltz".  In what other art form are bubble-headed fantasy and sour disillusionment considered to be the only available philosophies from which one might create, with no intermediate coordinates, much less any position outside that particular spectrum?  The form has been maturing remarkably for at least the latter half of its existence as a discipline distinct from, say, operetta or revue.  But most of even its most ardent advocates still seem to have trouble envisioning it in terms other than sappy-vs.-cynical (with the former still considered more normative), or that more-recent but equally narrow binary, sincerity-vs.-camp (which, for what it's worth, is at least occasionally acknowledged as being hospitable to uses more complicated than "either/or", even if in practice such uses tend to boil down to sloppy admixtures of gooiness and sarcasm).

I didn't get picked for the jury! 



That was a truly terrible 8 hours out of my day. I would be more than happy to never experience it again.

NYT:  Jeremy Jordan, Searching for Challenges Onstage
              In Floyd Collins, playing a hardscrabble Kentuckian trapped while exploring a cave,
              the actor finds inspiration in the claustrophobic restrictions.


Ed.:  This piece about Jordan is a free link.  Last night I forgot to use a free link for the NYT's review of the show, above, but I've now edited it to correct that.

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I'm too frazzled with Top Hat stuff to write about the matinée of Floyd this afternoon.  But my seat was great, and very different than Saturday's: Orch Center-Right E-404, third row near the House Right vom.  Landau's stage pictures were much clearer and more effective from today's vantage, and being closer to the action was nice.  The Beaumont being what it is, however (an enormous house... where no seat is further than 40' from the stage) — and Floyd being what it is (a chamber piece... with a prismatic, pageant-like expansiveness, whose characters, including Floyd himself, are more vividly sketched than intricately probed) — I actually think being seated less far off to the side today might have made a greater improvement than being closer to the stage did.

My seats in June, Orch Center J-303/4 will likely be best so far: left of center, just over halfway back.  While I didn't manage to scope out other locations today, I suspect the ideal seats for this show are probably in the 200s section (Orch Center-Left) somewhere around row G or H.  Or, if you're a Jeremy Jordan fan or prefer an angle that keeps Floyd centered, a bit closer and/or slightly further-left.  I'd stay away from the 500s (Orch [or Loge] Right) entirely, if at all possible.

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LCT has posted a nice selection of glowing pull-quotes on the show's webpage.  David Gordon's Theatermania review is simple, graceful, and to the point:

Quote from: David Gordon, Theatermania.com, 21 April 2025Floyd Collins is not a show for everyone—many will mistake its stillness for inertia, the use of negative space for emptiness—but if you surrender to the journey, you will feel everything.

His full review is worth a read.

NYT:   Trapped in a Cave and in a Media Circus
               One of the wonders of this glorious-sounding new Broadway production
               is how far from claustrophobic this Kentucky cave saga feels.


More reviews HERE.

Ah, Sara — well, I guess the honeymoon had to end sooner or later.  Her writing is as elegant as ever, her arguments are incisive and her observations gleam; but where I'm happy enough to admit that the show and the production have some curious flaws (which I find as fascinating as its virtues, and on those terms appreciate Holdren's analysis as much as ever), I don't see any of them as fatal, or even necessarily very consequential; some of them I don't even regard as flaws.  Her characterization of Guettel's score as "fundamentally pastel" is bizarre.

And I'm mystified as to how anyone could compare Floyd Collins unfavorably with the inert Dead Outlaw, whose baffling B'way transfer opens Sunday.  Apart from noting that it shared some of FC's thematic territory when I saw DO at the Atlantic (right around this time last year, though it seems much longer ago), the latter frankly faded from my mind within an hour or two of leaving the theater; I recall precisely nothing about its score beyond having thought it could kindly be described as "undistinguished", a decidedly lesser entry in David Yazbek's oeuvre.  I didn't hate it, and I'm not a fan of pitting shows against one another, but I thought David Barbour, one of DO's surprisingly few naysayers — hit the doornail squarely on the head).

I figured the La-Z-Boy might raise some critical hackles, and I'm not without reservations about Floyd's placement onstage (sort of midstage-right, well off center, though neither as far downstage nor as far off to the side as I'd remembered, now that I'm looking at some photos).  It occurred to me years ago that "trapping" him center-stage would be the obvious answer; perhaps too obvious, and, as even Holdren admits, it would create staging challenges.  In a funny way, it seems as though she might have preferred the uncompromisingly bleak fantasy-production I had in mind twenty years ago, though I now prefer Landau's.

Whatever.  Holdren's is actually the only review I've read before posting this, so I'm going to go read the NYT's and perhaps a few others, and then get some sleep and look forward to Wednesday.

Quote from: Leighton on Apr 20, 2025, 02:11 PMI've been re-listening to the original cast recording for the first time in years recently and my goodness it's a beautiful score.

I believe Blue Eyes was in the original show but not recorded for some reason.

I think so too, @Leighton ; I have the published script somewhere in storage, but I'm not curious enough to go over and dig through all the book boxes.  I do vaguely remember there being something in that libretto that I didn't recognize from the OCR, and it may well have been "And She'd Have Blue Eyes".

It is a glorious score; I'm not generally a fan of ranking things, but I think Floyd Collins and Caroline, or Change are the two best musicals of the 90s and aughts respectively, and of my young adulthood overall (I was 25 when Floyd premiered at Playwrights, and 32 when Caroline opened at the Public), and the single best shows of their respective decades.  It is an eternal regret that I didn't manage to see either original production, though I was intrigued by the reviews of both shows when they opened (and by their provenance: Kushner as a librettist, musicalizing his childhood (if loosely)?  Richard Rodgers's grandson composing an Off-B'way chamber opera about a man pinned beneath fifty feet of rock?), and snapped up their OCRs immediately upon release.  By 2004, a year after Caroline closed on Broadway without my managing to see it, I had fallen in love with its OCR to the point of seriously considering flying to LA or to San Francisco for a final last-ditch chance to see that original Wolfe/Pinkins/Rose production when it played limited runs at the Ahmanson and the Curran, respectively.  Alas, an impromptu cross-country trip wasn't really practical at the time; but I still kinda wish I'd thrown caution to the winds and done it anyway.

I did see Assassins and Passion in their initial runs, and found both productions fascinating (I saw Passion twice, and would have likewise returned to Assassins if I'd had both the money and the time to spend another whole day standing on a cancellation line).  But, at risk of heresy, I'd even place Guettel's and Tesori's masterpieces above those two later Sondheims.

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I literally just now, during a pause while writing this post, came across this profile of Landau from last week:

Vulture:  People Don't Always Get Tina Landau's Vision.
                  With Redwood and Floyd Collins, the director-writer remains uncompromising.


She mentions a song having been added for Floyd's 1999 US mini-tour, which I'm guessing would've been "Blue Eyes".  I believe the libretto I have in storage (an actor-edition from R&H) was published sometime after that tour; I'd been hoping for a published script after the original NY production closed, but the wait ended up lasting several years — consistent with the authors' feeling that their show needed more work (and their consequent withholding of production rights for several years after its original Off Broadway run).

Such is my admiration for FC that, over the years, even my mild skepticism about its final reach for uplift has softened.  I originally resisted the idea of Floyd ever visibly escaping his confinement, even for a moment as obviously unreal as "The Dream": I wanted him immobile from fifteen minutes into the show onward.  (I think I actually wanted him to stay in place through intermission, and even through a curtain-call-free audience exit afterward; the former idea now strikes me as unnecessary, the latter as pretentious, and both as unreasonable demands to make of an actor).  I would probably have cringed in horror at Landau's assertion, near the end of this interview, that "to me, [Floyd Collins has] a happy ending. I felt that in auditions when people kept coming in and singing "How Glory Goes." Someone dies. But there's a kind of peace, joy, and freedom. Floyd goes up to the sky."  Time has mellowed me, I guess; Landau's phrasing may have stumbled into the maudlin, but her actual stage picture is lovely and, if anything, only sharpens the story's darkness by contrast (Jordan doesn't exactly "go up to the sky"; he rises from his slab and walks away from us, light-footed but unhurried, finally silhouetted — standing firmly on the ground — against a luminous blue-orange cyc while his yodeling echoes into the final fadeout.  I guess you could say, albeit less poetically, that "Floyd goes upstage toward the 'sky'".  As Landau says herself: "the thing I've known about this show from the beginning is the more we try to be literal, the less it works"; her final image, starkly simple and almost entirely abstract, works fine).  And I have no problem, as I would've when I was younger, with her freeing Floyd briefly near the end of the first act too, physically releasing him into boisterous youthful reminiscence with Homer — the brothers are temporarily given free range of the entire Beaumont stage, but only in memory — for the joyful middle section of "The Riddle Song".  Potentially confusingly for FC newbies (has Floyd's foot in fact been freed??), Landau brings them back to the cave at one point with their positions playfully reversed: Homer on the chair/slab and Floyd close behind and above him posing the "swing tree" riddle.   But when they take the stage for both the quarry and swing-tree choruses ("da, da, dacky-dicky-da," etc.), the visual contrast of their expansive, exuberantly physical freedom in memory makes Floyd's eventual slide back into terrified delirium all the more heartbreaking.  And Homer rallying him — back in reality, with Floyd on his slab once again — for the exultant final verse makes an electrifying act-ending; it sent me into intermission with goose bumps.

That sounds like a really nice Easter weekend to me.   Other than seeing Floyd yesterday I haven't done much.  My mom made meatloaf last night, and I made English-muffin mini-pizzas with crumbled sausage tonight, and for dessert we had strawberries (which were on sale at the supermarket, not the sweetest, but even a mediocre strawberry is worthwhile in my book) with homemade whipped cream.  So it was a yummy weekend, at least.

(And on the off-chance that my attempts not to gush about FC actually fooled anyone: I adored it and can't wait to go back.  Someone on BWW mentioned that it was being taped the night they saw it, last week I think; and while I'm guessing that was archival, I sure wish they'd do a PBS/Fathom/streaming proshot at some point).

I'm usually a purist about mac & cheese, ever since having some here that I still remember fifteen years later: pale yellow-white instead of Kraft orange, more creamy than sharp, with a toasty panko crust baked on top, served piping hot in a sort of ramekin that was probably 5" across and almost as deep.  It made me a convert to the dish, but now whenever I have mac & cheese I'm basically hoping to relive that experience.

But I do like pulled pork, and the Noodles website looks tempting, so I am intrigued.

I've been re-listening to the original cast recording for the first time in years recently and my goodness it's a beautiful score.

I believe Blue Eyes was in the original show but not recorded for some reason.

Today is Easter, and it's also a friend's birthday and THE day to get high and the start of the astrological sign Taurus.

I am binge-watching Ted Lasso because the number one thing on my list for tomorrow is "Cancel AppleTV." I got three months free with the new laptop, and I waited until January to redeem it so I could watch the new season of Severance. (I need to time the purchase of my next phone to whenever the next season is scheduled.) Episode 9 of Season 3 of Ted Lasso referenced La Cage aux Folles and the Denver Broncos, so I'm happy.

I spaced the fact that Friday was Good Friday. I usually blast Jesus Christ Superstar on Good Friday. I ended up listening to it yesterday, followed by a mini Guettel-fest of Floyd Collins and Days of Wine and Roses.

Also yesterday, I had a fantastic early dinner of Pulled Pork Mac & Cheese from Noodles & Company. It was on sale for $8, and it may be the greatest thing I've ever eaten.

Last night I won a lottery ticket to today's matinée.

In the spirit of (sort of, relative) neutrality, for now I'll just say that I'm very excited to return next Wednesday, and again in June.

I'll also say that, while I enjoyed the show today from not-great seats in a house that has no truly bad ones, I'm glad my June tickets are more central: my seat today was in the very last row of the orchestra, as far House Left as it's possible to get.  This was probably better than extreme House Right would've been, since Floyd spends the vast majority of the show trapped downstage-right (House Left); so if my sightlines didn't do the staging any particular favors overall, at least I was much closer to his scenes than I would have been if my seat were on the other side of the auditorium.

About those "no particular favors" — again, the Beaumont has no really bad seats; FC is performed largely on its deep thrust, on a legitimately minimalist set, so sightlines were still fine as far as I could tell; if there were ever things I missed happening far upstage-right, they weren't crucial to my understanding or enjoyment of the show.  But I'm sure Tina Landau's stage pictures look better from a less-acute viewing angle; for one thing, I was only seeing a little over half of the giant LCD screen that serves as a cyclorama (and is mostly used as such, providing vivid color-washes and textures rather than cinematic imagery, with a small handful of well-chosen exceptions — rippling water for "The Riddle Song", fireworks and hallucinatory optical patterns for "The Carnival", cumulus clouds in a vibrant blue sky for "The Dream" — which, while not altogether ruined even by my worst-case-scenario viewing angle today, are undoubtedly a lot more effective when viewed from better seats).

All of which is to say, @DiveMilw , that if you're thinking of traveling to see this and you have any choice in the matter of seating location: as always, central-ish is better than extreme sides, but in this case specifically, House Left is better than House Right if it does come down to a choice between the two extremes.  Closer is probably better overall, and I imagine Orchestra is probably better than Loge; even within the orchestra, I'm looking forward to seeing it again in June from Row J.  But today's seat in Row P wasn't terrible; so it's possible that the height and distance of the Loge (which barely overhangs Orch Row N) might not be bad either.  (In most B'way theaters I tend to go for front-mezzanine seats, but at the Beaumont, and especially for this show, it wouldn't be my first choice).

My ticket on Wednesday is through TDF, so I won't know where I'm sitting until an hour before the performance.  But once I'm there, I'll try and scope things out a little more now that I have one viewing under my belt.

As usual, I couldn't stop myself last night from skimming some of the BWW preview reactions (a recent-ish bad habit that I probably ought to break), which are predictably all over the map.  I will say that the score is beautifully played and sung, and whatever sound problems were marring earlier previews seem to have been solved — even in my probably acoustically-suboptimal seat today (Orch Left P-111), the show sounded great.  Lizzie McAlpine's Nellie was one of the biggest bones of contention among early-previewgoers, so it may be worth mentioning that her sound and personality are not the same as Theresa McCarthy's on the OCR.  But if McAlpine feels like less of an actor's-actor than McCarthy, and her version of Nellie's unworldly mysticism less delicate-femme and otherworldly, her musicality is just as impressive as her predecessor's, navigating Guettel's dauntingly complex vocal lines and rhythms with effortless aplomb and subtlety.

In a dead heat with McAlpine's performance, for bitchy BWW commentary, was that aforementioned scenic minimalism, which struck some as unforgivable.  My instinct is to dismiss such complaints as philistine — but given my extreme sightlines today, I'll wait for at least one more viewing before rushing to praise the creative team's choices.  I'll just say that the folks at dots aren't idiots, nor is Ms. Landau; and that even my own description of their work here as "minimalist" should be taken with a grain of salt:   Still, if you're hoping for spectacle in the sense of realistic rock formations and labyrinthine cave "architecture" — or if you require that the claustrophobia of Floyd's predicament be illustrated by means any more literal than his spending most of the evening immobile in a single spot onstage (lying on what resembles, according to one BWW complainer, a sort of deconstructed La-Z-Boy recliner) — then this design probably won't thrill you.  Even more than in Sunset Blvd, the heavier-than-it-might-appear use of technology in Floyd Collins is stealthily and rigorously made to serve, not to embellish, the production's stripped-to-the-bone aesthetic.  I should also mention that this set doesn't photograph well at all; it's a textbook example of a design that comes to life only when the story is unfolding within it. 

There have apparently been some changes in terms of writing — though, with only the OCR for comparison, the only ones I really noticed were one song which is either new, or didn't make it onto the recording: "And She'd Have Blue Eyes" (basically Floyd imagining the domestic contentment he'll never know); and a new placement for "It Moves", pushed from Floyd's initial discovery of Sand Cave (right after "The Call") to a spot late in Act 2.  "It Moves" is now his attempt to articulate his love of cave exploration to "Skeets" Miller, ending with "...a stone history book / with a coupla sentences 'bout me" just before the final cave-in that will seal Floyd off, permanently and completely, from any communication with the outside world.  [Ed.: "It Moves" actually happens after the cave-in, with Floyd addressing Skeets only in his mind].

I'll stop here for now, partly because my thoughts haven't yet gelled enough to put together a coherent overall impression of the show, or of the rest of the cast (all wonderful, broadly speaking).  But, where my first viewing of Merrily in early 2023 left me underwhelmed, and Sweeney that same year had me, after a first viewing, nearly dreading (justifiably, as it turned out) my previously-planned return visit, Floyd today left me as eager for seconds (and thirds) as Caroline or Company in 2021 (both of which I saw twice, and would gladly have returned for more, had time and money allowed).  The supposedly two-and-a-half hour running time yesterday, which sounds longer than I had previously imagined FC to be, flew by and kept me utterly absorbed.

This "making-of" isn't the making of the current production, but a podcast overview of the show's history, made by a fan with occasional soundbites from the pandemic original-cast reunion on Seth Rudetsky's "Stars In The House" and a few game observations from Guettel himself, with whom the podcaster was able to speak last year..