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Hierdie Broadway -toneelstuk is gesluit, maar sy Pierogi leef voort

Hierdie Broadway -toneelstuk is gesluit, maar sy Pierogi leef voort


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Van 'n show -freebie tot 'n LES -restaurant

Samovarchik / Yelp

Samovarchik

Die Broadway -toneelstuk Natasha, Pierre, en die Groot Komeet van 1812 vinnig verbrand op die Great White Way. Maar een aspek leef voort: die pierogi.

Voor elke vertoning van die musikale re -enactment van Oorlog en vrede, het gehoorlede 'n enkele aartappel pierogi ontvang. Hierdie gevraagde klein kluitjies leef voort in Samovarchik, 'n klein kafee aan die Lower East Side in Manhattan. Die oploop-toonbank verkoop "The Famous 'Great Comet Pirogie" "teen vyf vir $ 3, so dit is waarskynlik die beste goedkoop eetplek in die stad.

Die oorspronklike kluitjies van die musiekblyspel kom van Midtown's Russiese Samovar, dus is dit gepas dat die kleiner ligging in die middestad die Russiese agtervoegsel gebruik -sjiek verkleinwoord aan te dui).

Swaai dus deur die winkeltjie in Stantonstraat en kyk of u die pierogi 'n staande toejuiging gee.


Ontwaak Broadway: die moeilikheid om stories vir die verhoog op te dateer

Hier is 'n vraag van Tootsie, die Broadway-musiekblyspel oor 'n out-of-work akteur wat vir sukses suksesvol is: 'In 'n tyd waarin vroue letterlik hul mag tussen die bene van mans terugtrek, het u die vrymoedigheid om neem 'n werk van een weg deur dit te doen? " Die lyn steek om 'n paar redes uit.

Is dit regtig 'n krag waarin vroue belangstel?

Dit is eintlik 'n baie goeie vraag.

Aangesien Broadway toenemend afhanklik is van filmaanpassings en snaakse herlewings, moet skeppers 'n nuwe taak doen (nie dat almal dit doen nie): die hersiening van oorspronklike materiaal sodat dit nie 'n hedendaagse gehoor beledig nie en bewys dat die maak van 'n draaiboek meer sensitief nie maak dit nie minder grappig of grappig nie. Boekopdaterings verwyder gewoonlik rassistiese of homofobiese taal en verbeter sommige van die meer voor die hand liggende seksisme, hoewel gewoonlik nie almal nie. Lirieke word ook gereeld aangepas. Maar baie musiekblyspele wat wakker word, slaap nog half. Soos Tootsie, 'n goedbedoelde vertoning, waarskynlik snaakser as die film uit 1982 wat dit geïnspireer het. Dit het homoseksuele paniek ingedruk en sy manlike protagonis met sy optrede laat reken. En tog kon dit steeds nie 'n volledig dimensionele vroulike voorsprong bestuur nie.

Tootsie se ingrypings, indien nie heeltemal suksesvol nie, was meer goedaardig en minder grof as 'n paar ander film-na-musiekverwerkings, King Kong en Pretty Woman, wat albei hierdie maand sluit. King Kong, 'n siniese oefening wat gebou is rondom 'n reuse en weliswaar fantastiese simianpop, probeer 'n deel van die rassisme en rapheid van die oorspronklike film ongedaan maak deur 'n kleurakteur, Christiani Pitts, as die aktrise Ann Darrow te rol en die karakter te ontseksualiseer. Maar deur 'n band te skep tussen 'n swart karakter en die aap en deur die aap haar te leer brul, verhandel Jack Thorne se boek in 'n kommerwekkende primitivisme.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow saam met King Kong. Foto: Matthew Murphy/King Kong op Broadway

King Kong het nie die moeite gedoen om Ann karaktereienskappe toe te ken nie, behalwe vaagweg. Die ander karakters is weer ewe dun. Pretty Woman, 'n hoogwatermerk van die smaaklose en toondowe, het 'n volledig afgeronde karakter met identifiseerbare hoop en drome bestuur. Dit is nie Vivian, die titular looker nie. Sy is nie eers die protagonis nie. Haar vagina is bloot die manier waarop Edward, 'n waagkapitalis, kan groei. Daar is skokkend min aandag gegee aan hoe 'n verhaal oor 'n sekswerker sonder skynbare agentskap nou sal speel. (Tot die helfte van die kapasiteit, die meeste weke.) In wat blykbaar die enigste herstelpoging van die aand is, het die boek van Garry Marshall en JF Lawton nou vir Vivian haarself gered deur 'n nie-neem-vir-'n-antwoord-john. Dit is 'n macho -beweging en 'n verkeerde kop, wat bemagtiging gelyk stel aan geweld.

'N Soortgelyke probleem is die onlangse herlewing van Kiss Me, Kate, hoewel Amanda Green se opdaterings van die boek van Bella en Samuel Spewack en die lirieke van Cole Porter meestal bedagsaam en bedagsaam is. In die oorspronklike, toe die akteur Lilli haar nie aan haar regisseur en toneelvennoot, Fred, onderwerp nie, slaan hy haar op die verhoog. In hierdie weergawe skop Lilli letterlik sy gat, en in die volgende toneel kan nie een van die twee sit nie, wat die geweld teenoor vroue versag, maar steeds nie 'n verbetering voel nie.

Tog klop dit die Carousel van verlede seisoen, wat erken het dat sy vrou-klopheld en sy boek wat my getref het, en dit het soos 'n soen gevoel, 'n probleem kan wees, en dan niks regstreeks daaraan gedoen het nie. Daarteenoor, Daniel Fish se gewaagde herwerking van Oklahoma! slaag daarin om al sy karakters vol stem en innerlikheid te bied (weliswaar het Rodgers en Hammerstein op hul eie redelik ver gekom), terwyl hulle steeds verheug was oor sy vreugdevolle liedjies. Sonder om 'n lyn te verander, wys dit ook hoe 'n kultuur van manlike aanspraak en maklike toegang tot wapens 'n hele gemeenskap, grens of andersins, vergiftig. En My Fair Lady van Bartlett Sher, wat hierdie lente gesluit het, het 'n vreemde lyn en toneel uit die Pygmalion -fliek uit 1938 opgehef, hoe beter om die feminisme wat reeds in die DNA van die program ingesluit is, bloot te stel, wat wys hoe Eliza se pad na selfwees nie die onderwerping van 'n man wat nie kon erken dat hy haar liefhet nie. Hy kan sy eie pantoffels kry.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James en Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Foto: Matthew Murphy

Ek het verlede maand by Moulin Rouge aan hierdie verskillende ingrypings gedink, nog 'n verwerking van 'n gewilde film. Die musiekblyspel, met 'n boek van John Logan, het 'n paar rooi vlae laat sak terwyl hy 'n blikkie-dans saam met ander gedans het. Net soos die oorspronklike van Baz Luhrmann, fokus dit blykbaar op Satine, 'n gevierde aktrise en kabaretster, en die mans wat lief is vir haar, Christian, 'n geldlose liedjieskrywer, en die hertog van Monroth, 'n edelman en vervaardiger.

Maar in hierdie weergawe, geregisseer deur Alex Timbers, speel die musical wat Christian skryf nie meer in Indië voor nie, 'n stap wat die bruin gesig en kulturele toeëiening vermy. Die seksualiteit en die skaars kostuums is nou gelyke geleenthede. Die musiekblyspel vervang wyslik die flikkerende poging tot verkragting van die fliek met Satine se oop oë, as dit nie entoesiasties is nie. Dit gee haar selfs 'n semi-edele motief. Sy sal die hertog (nou jonger en warmer en baie minder kranksinnig) afskrik, nie net vir sy geld nie, maar ook om die nagklub te red.

Tog het die musiekblyspel nie die moeite gedoen om die versterkte Satine haar eie ambisies te gee nie - iets wat selfs die film reggekry het, daarmee Satine se drome om 'n regte akteur te word - of om haar karakter net so aktief te maak as die mans wat om haar liggaam meeding. Sy leef, en sterf gerieflik, as inspirasie en voorwerp.

Die daaropvolgende Broadway -seisoen is steeds aan die gang en daar is baie nuwe toneelstukke en musiekblyspele - Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill - wat u nie hoef te bekommer oor opdaterings nie. Maar met werke soos Mrs Doubtfire en Some Like It Hot in ontwikkeling, meer film-tot-musikale verwerkings oor ouens met talente vir transvestitisme, en The Devil Wears Prada, wat feministiese modewoorde gebruik het terwyl hulle neig na geslagstereotipes (om niks te sê van Don nie 't Stop Til You Get Enough, die Michael Jackson -musiekblyspel wat moet besluit of hulle met beskuldigings van Jackson se reeksmisbruik wil reken of nie), sal skeppers moet besluit hoe en of hulle die oorspronklike sal verbeter. As Broadway krediet wil hê omdat hy wakker geword het, moet hy miskien vroeër alarm maak.


Ontwaak Broadway: die moeilikheid om stories vir die verhoog op te dateer

Hier is 'n vraag van Tootsie, die Broadway-musiekblyspel oor 'n out-of-work akteur wat vir sukses suksesvol is: 'In 'n tyd waarin vroue letterlik hul mag tussen die bene van mans terugtrek, het u die vrymoedigheid om neem u 'n werk weg van een deur dit te doen? " Die lyn steek om 'n paar redes uit.

Is dit regtig 'n krag waarin vroue belangstel?

Dit is eintlik 'n baie goeie vraag.

Aangesien Broadway toenemend afhanklik is van filmaanpassings en snaakse herlewings, moet skeppers 'n nuwe taak doen (nie dat almal dit doen nie): die hersiening van oorspronklike materiaal sodat dit nie 'n hedendaagse gehoor beledig nie en bewys dat die maak van 'n draaiboek meer sensitief nie maak dit nie minder grappig of grappig nie. Boekopdaterings verwyder gewoonlik rassistiese of homofobiese taal en verbeter sommige van die meer voor die hand liggende seksisme, hoewel gewoonlik nie almal nie. Lirieke word ook gereeld aangepas. Maar baie musiekblyspele wat wakker word, slaap nog half. Soos Tootsie, 'n goedbedoelde vertoning, waarskynlik snaakser as die film uit 1982 wat dit geïnspireer het. Dit het homoseksuele paniek ingedruk en sy manlike protagonis met sy optrede laat reken. En tog kon dit steeds nie 'n volledig dimensionele vroulike voorsprong bestuur nie.

Tootsie se ingrypings, indien nie heeltemal suksesvol nie, was meer goedaardig en minder grof as 'n paar ander film-na-musiekverwerkings, King Kong en Pretty Woman, wat albei hierdie maand sluit. King Kong, 'n siniese oefening wat opgebou is rondom 'n reusagtige en weliswaar fantastiese Simian -marionet, probeer 'n deel van die rassisme en rapheid van die oorspronklike film ongedaan maak deur 'n kleurakteur, Christiani Pitts, as die aktrise Ann Darrow te rol en die karakter te ontseksualiseer. Maar deur 'n band te skep tussen 'n swart karakter en die aap en deur die aap haar te leer brul, verhandel Jack Thorne se boek in 'n kommerwekkende primitivisme.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow saam met King Kong. Foto: Matthew Murphy/King Kong op Broadway

King Kong het nie die moeite gedoen om Ann karaktereienskappe toe te ken nie, behalwe vaagweg. Die ander karakters is weer ewe dun. Pretty Woman, 'n hoogwatermerk van die smaaklose en toonaardes, het 'n volledig afgeronde karakter met identifiseerbare hoop en drome bestuur. Dit is nie Vivian, die titular looker nie. Sy is nie eers die protagonis nie. Haar vagina is bloot die manier waarop Edward, 'n waagkapitalis, kan groei. Daar is skokkend min aandag gegee aan hoe 'n verhaal oor 'n sekswerker sonder skynbare agentskap nou sal speel. (Tot die helfte van die kapasiteit, die meeste weke.) In wat blykbaar die enigste herstel van die aand is, het die boek van Garry Marshall en JF Lawton haar nou deur Vivian gered deur 'n nie-neem-vir-'n-antwoord-john te slaan. Dit is 'n macho -beweging en 'n verkeerde kop, wat bemagtiging gelyk stel aan geweld.

'N Soortgelyke probleem is die onlangse herlewing van Kiss Me, Kate, hoewel Amanda Green se opdaterings van die boek van Bella en Samuel Spewack en die lirieke van Cole Porter meestal bedagsaam en bedagsaam is. In die oorspronklike, toe die akteur Lilli hom nie aan haar regisseur en toneelvennoot, Fred, onderwerp nie, span hy haar op die verhoog. In hierdie weergawe skop Lilli letterlik sy gat, en in die volgende toneel kan nie een van die twee sit nie, wat die geweld teenoor vroue versag, maar steeds nie 'n verbetering voel nie.

Tog klop dit die Carousel van verlede seisoen, wat erken het dat sy vrou-klopheld en sy boek wat my getref het, en dit het soos 'n soen gevoel, 'n probleem kan wees, en dan niks regstreeks daaraan gedoen het nie. Daarteenoor, Daniel Fish se gewaagde herwerking van Oklahoma! slaag daarin om al sy karakters vol stem en innerlikheid te bied (weliswaar het Rodgers en Hammerstein op hul eie redelik ver gekom), terwyl hulle steeds verheug was oor sy vreugdevolle liedjies. Sonder om 'n lyn te verander, wys dit ook hoe 'n kultuur van manlike aanspraak en maklike toegang tot wapens 'n hele gemeenskap, grens of andersins, vergiftig. En My Fair Lady van Bartlett Sher, wat hierdie lente gesluit het, het 'n vreemde lyn en toneel uit die Pygmalion -film uit 1938 opgehef, hoe beter om die feminisme wat reeds in die DNA van die program ingesluit is, bloot te stel, wat wys hoe Eliza se pad na selfwees nie die onderwerping van 'n man wat nie kon erken dat hy haar liefhet nie. Hy kan sy eie pantoffels kry.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James en Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Foto: Matthew Murphy

Ek het verlede maand by Moulin Rouge aan hierdie verskillende ingrypings gedink, nog 'n verwerking van 'n gewilde film. Die musiekblyspel, met 'n boek van John Logan, het 'n paar rooi vlae laat sak terwyl hy 'n blikkie-dans saam met ander gedans het. Net soos die oorspronklike van Baz Luhrmann, fokus dit blykbaar op Satine, 'n gevierde aktrise en kabaretster, en die mans wat lief is vir haar, Christian, 'n geldlose liedjieskrywer, en die hertog van Monroth, 'n edelman en vervaardiger.

Maar in hierdie weergawe, geregisseer deur Alex Timbers, speel die musical wat Christian skryf nie meer in Indië voor nie, 'n stap wat die bruin gesig en kulturele toeëiening vermy. Die seksualiteit en die skaars kostuums is nou gelyke geleenthede. Die musiekblyspel vervang wyslik die flikkerende poging tot verkragting van die fliek met Satine se oop oë, as dit nie entoesiasties is nie. Dit gee haar selfs 'n semi-edele motief. Sy sal die hertog (nou jonger en warmer en baie minder kranksinnig) afskrik, nie net vir sy geld nie, maar ook om die nagklub te red.

Tog het die musiekblyspel nie die moeite gedoen om die versterkte Satine haar eie ambisies te gee nie - iets wat selfs die film reggekry het, daarmee Satine se drome om 'n regte akteur te word - of om haar karakter net so aktief te maak as die mans wat om haar liggaam meeding. Sy leef en sterf gerieflik as inspirasie en voorwerp.

Die daaropvolgende Broadway -seisoen is steeds aan die gang en daar is baie nuwe toneelstukke en musiekblyspele - Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill - wat u nie hoef te bekommer oor opdaterings nie. Maar met werke soos Mrs Doubtfire en Some Like It Hot in ontwikkeling, meer film-tot-musikale verwerkings oor ouens met talente vir transvestitisme, en The Devil Wears Prada, wat feministiese modewoorde gebruik het terwyl hulle neig na geslagstereotipes (om niks te sê van Don nie 't Stop Til You Get Enough, die Michael Jackson -musiekblyspel wat moet besluit of hulle met beskuldigings van Jackson se reeksmisbruik moet reken of nie), sal skeppers moet besluit hoe en of hulle die oorspronklike sal verbeter. As Broadway krediet wil hê omdat hy wakker geword het, moet hy miskien vroeër alarm maak.


Ontwaak Broadway: die moeilikheid om stories vir die verhoog op te dateer

Hier is 'n vraag van Tootsie, die Broadway-musiekblyspel oor 'n out-of-work akteur wat vir sukses suksesvol is: 'In 'n tyd waarin vroue letterlik hul mag tussen die bene van mans terugtrek, het u die vrymoedigheid om neem u 'n werk weg van een deur dit te doen? " Die lyn steek om 'n paar redes uit.

Is dit regtig 'n krag waarin vroue belangstel?

Dit is eintlik 'n baie goeie vraag.

Aangesien Broadway toenemend afhanklik is van filmaanpassings en snaakse herlewings, moet skeppers 'n nuwe taak doen (nie dat almal dit doen nie): die hersiening van oorspronklike materiaal sodat dit nie 'n hedendaagse gehoor beledig nie en bewys dat die maak van 'n draaiboek meer sensitief is maak dit nie minder grappig of grappig nie. Boekopdaterings verwyder gewoonlik rassistiese of homofobiese taal en verbeter sommige van die meer voor die hand liggende seksisme, hoewel gewoonlik nie almal nie. Lirieke word ook gereeld aangepas. Maar baie musiekblyspele wat wakker word, slaap nog half. Soos Tootsie, 'n goedbedoelde vertoning, waarskynlik snaakser as die film uit 1982 wat dit geïnspireer het. Dit het homoseksuele paniek ingedruk en sy manlike protagonis met sy optrede laat reken. En tog kon dit steeds nie 'n volledig dimensionele vroulike voorsprong bestuur nie.

Tootsie se ingrypings, indien nie heeltemal suksesvol nie, was meer goedaardig en minder grof as 'n paar ander film-na-musiekverwerkings, King Kong en Pretty Woman, wat albei hierdie maand sluit. King Kong, 'n siniese oefening wat opgebou is rondom 'n reusagtige en weliswaar fantastiese Simian -marionet, probeer 'n deel van die rassisme en rapheid van die oorspronklike film ongedaan maak deur 'n aktrise van kleur, Christiani Pitts, as die aktrise Ann Darrow te rol en die karakter te ontseksualiseer. Maar deur 'n band tussen 'n swart karakter en die aap te skep en deur die aap haar te leer hoe om te brul, verruil Jack Thorne se boek 'n kommerwekkende primitivisme.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow saam met King Kong. Foto: Matthew Murphy/King Kong op Broadway

King Kong het nie die moeite gedoen om Ann karaktereienskappe toe te ken nie, behalwe vaagweg. Die ander karakters is weer ewe dun. Pretty Woman, 'n hoogwatermerk van die smaaklose en toondowe, het 'n volledig afgeronde karakter met identifiseerbare hoop en drome bestuur. Dit is nie Vivian, die titular looker nie. Sy is nie eers die protagonis nie. Haar vagina is bloot die manier waarop Edward, 'n waagkapitalis, kan groei. Skokkend min aandag is geskenk aan hoe 'n verhaal oor 'n sekswerker sonder oënskynlike agentskap nou sal speel. (Tot die helfte van die kapasiteit, die meeste weke.) In wat blykbaar die enigste herstelpoging van die aand is, het die boek van Garry Marshall en JF Lawton nou vir Vivian haarself gered deur 'n nie-neem-vir-'n-antwoord-john. Dit is 'n macho -beweging en 'n verkeerde kop, wat bemagtiging gelyk stel aan geweld.

'N Soortgelyke probleem is die onlangse herlewing van Kiss Me, Kate, hoewel Amanda Green se opdaterings van die boek van Bella en Samuel Spewack en die lirieke van Cole Porter meestal bedagsaam en bedagsaam is. In die oorspronklike, toe die akteur Lilli hom nie aan haar regisseur en toneelvennoot, Fred, onderwerp nie, span hy haar op die verhoog. In hierdie weergawe skop Lilli letterlik sy gat, en in die volgende toneel kan nie een van die twee sit nie, wat die geweld teenoor vroue versag, maar dit voel steeds nie asof dit 'n verbetering is nie.

Tog klop dit die Carousel van verlede seisoen, wat erken het dat sy vrou-klopheld en sy boek wat my getref het, en dit het soos 'n soen gevoel het, 'n probleem kan wees en dan niks regstreeks daaraan gedoen het nie. Daarteenoor, Daniel Fish se gewaagde herwerking van Oklahoma! slaag daarin om al sy karakters vol stem en innerlikheid te bied (weliswaar het Rodgers en Hammerstein op hul eie redelik ver gekom), terwyl hulle steeds verheug was oor sy vreugdevolle liedjies. Sonder om 'n lyn te verander, wys dit ook hoe 'n kultuur van manlike aanspraak en maklike toegang tot wapens 'n hele gemeenskap, grens of andersins, vergiftig. En My Fair Lady van Bartlett Sher, wat hierdie lente gesluit het, het 'n vreemde lyn en toneel uit die Pygmalion -fliek uit 1938 opgehef, hoe beter om die feminisme wat reeds in die DNA van die program ingesluit is, bloot te stel, wat wys hoe Eliza se pad na selfwees nie die onderwerping van 'n man wat nie kon erken dat hy haar liefhet nie. Hy kan sy eie pantoffels kry.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James en Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Foto: Matthew Murphy

Ek het verlede maand by Moulin Rouge aan hierdie verskillende ingrypings gedink, nog 'n verwerking van 'n gewilde film. Die musiekblyspel, met 'n boek van John Logan, het 'n paar rooi vlae laat sak terwyl hy 'n blikkie-dans saam met ander gedans het. Net soos die oorspronklike van Baz Luhrmann, fokus dit blykbaar op Satine, 'n gevierde aktrise en kabaretster, en die mans wat lief is vir haar, Christian, 'n geldlose liedjieskrywer, en die hertog van Monroth, 'n edelman en vervaardiger.

Maar in hierdie weergawe, geregisseer deur Alex Timbers, speel die musical wat Christian skryf nie meer in Indië voor nie, 'n stap wat die bruin gesig en kulturele toeëiening vermy. Die seksualiteit en die skaars kostuums is nou gelyke geleenthede. Die musiekblyspel vervang wyslik die flikkerende poging tot verkragting van die fliek met Satine se oop oë, as dit nie entoesiasties is nie. Dit gee haar selfs 'n semi-edele motief. Sy sal die hertog (nou jonger en warmer en baie minder kranksinnig) afskrik, nie net vir sy geld nie, maar ook om die nagklub te red.

Tog het die musiekblyspel nie die moeite gedoen om die versterkte Satine haar eie ambisies te gee nie - iets wat selfs die film reggekry het, daarmee Satine se drome om 'n regte akteur te word - of om haar karakter net so aktief te maak as die mans wat om haar liggaam meeding. Sy leef, en sterf gerieflik, as inspirasie en voorwerp.

Die daaropvolgende Broadway -seisoen is steeds aan die gang en daar is baie nuwe toneelstukke en musiekblyspele - Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill - wat u nie hoef te bekommer oor opdaterings nie. Maar met werke soos Mrs Doubtfire en Some Like It Hot in ontwikkeling, meer film-tot-musikale verwerkings oor ouens met talente vir transvestitisme, en The Devil Wears Prada, wat feministiese modewoorde gebruik het terwyl hulle in geslagstereotipes neig (om niks te sê van Don nie 't Stop Til You Get Enough, die Michael Jackson -musiekblyspel wat moet besluit of hulle met beskuldigings van Jackson se reeksmisbruik moet reken of nie), sal skeppers moet besluit hoe en of hulle die oorspronklike sal verbeter. As Broadway krediet wil hê omdat hy wakker geword het, moet hy miskien vroeër alarm maak.


Ontwaak Broadway: die moeilikheid om stories vir die verhoog op te dateer

Hier is 'n vraag van Tootsie, die Broadway-musiekblyspel oor 'n out-of-work akteur wat vir sukses suksesvol is: 'In 'n tyd waarin vroue letterlik hul mag tussen die bene van mans terugtrek, het u die vrymoedigheid om neem 'n werk van een weg deur dit te doen? " Die lyn steek om 'n paar redes uit.

Is dit regtig 'n krag waarin vroue belangstel?

Dit is eintlik 'n baie goeie vraag.

Aangesien Broadway toenemend afhanklik is van filmaanpassings en snaakse herlewings, moet skeppers 'n nuwe taak doen (nie dat almal dit doen nie): die hersiening van oorspronklike materiaal sodat dit nie 'n hedendaagse gehoor beledig nie en bewys dat die maak van 'n draaiboek meer sensitief is maak dit nie minder grappig of grappig nie. Boekopdaterings verwyder gewoonlik rassistiese of homofobiese taal en verbeter sommige van die meer voor die hand liggende seksisme, hoewel gewoonlik nie almal nie. Lirieke word ook gereeld aangepas. Maar baie musiekblyspele wat wakker word, slaap nog half. Soos Tootsie, 'n goedbedoelde vertoning, waarskynlik snaakser as die film uit 1982 wat dit geïnspireer het. Dit het homoseksuele paniek ingedruk en sy manlike protagonis met sy optrede laat reken. En tog kon dit steeds nie 'n volledig dimensionele vroulike voorsprong bestuur nie.

Tootsie se ingrypings, indien nie heeltemal suksesvol nie, was meer goedaardig en minder grof as 'n paar ander film-na-musiekverwerkings, King Kong en Pretty Woman, wat albei hierdie maand sluit. King Kong, 'n siniese oefening wat gebou is rondom 'n reuse en weliswaar fantastiese simianpop, probeer 'n deel van die rassisme en rapheid van die oorspronklike film ongedaan maak deur 'n kleurakteur, Christiani Pitts, as die aktrise Ann Darrow te rol en die karakter te ontseksualiseer. Maar deur 'n band tussen 'n swart karakter en die aap te skep en deur die aap haar te leer hoe om te brul, verruil Jack Thorne se boek 'n kommerwekkende primitivisme.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow saam met King Kong. Foto: Matthew Murphy/King Kong op Broadway

King Kong het nie die moeite gedoen om Ann karaktereienskappe toe te ken nie, behalwe vaagweg. Die ander karakters is weer ewe dun. Pretty Woman, 'n hoogwatermerk van die smaaklose en toonaardes, het 'n volledig afgeronde karakter met identifiseerbare hoop en drome bestuur. Dit is nie Vivian, die titular looker nie. Sy is nie eers die protagonis nie. Haar vagina is bloot die manier waarop Edward, 'n waagkapitalis, kan groei. Daar is skokkend min aandag gegee aan hoe 'n verhaal oor 'n sekswerker sonder skynbare agentskap nou sal speel. (Tot die helfte van die kapasiteit, die meeste weke.) In wat blykbaar die enigste herstel van die aand is, het die boek van Garry Marshall en JF Lawton haar nou deur Vivian gered deur 'n nie-neem-vir-'n-antwoord-john te slaan. Dit is 'n macho -beweging en 'n verkeerde kop, wat bemagtiging gelyk stel aan geweld.

'N Soortgelyke probleem is die onlangse herlewing van Kiss Me, Kate, hoewel Amanda Green se opdaterings van die boek van Bella en Samuel Spewack en die lirieke van Cole Porter meestal bedagsaam en bedagsaam is. In die oorspronklike, toe die akteur Lilli haar nie aan haar regisseur en toneelvennoot, Fred, onderwerp nie, slaan hy haar op die verhoog. In hierdie weergawe skop Lilli letterlik sy gat, en in die volgende toneel kan nie een van die twee sit nie, wat die geweld teenoor vroue versag, maar steeds nie 'n verbetering voel nie.

Tog klop dit die Carousel van verlede seisoen, wat erken het dat sy vrou-klopheld en sy boek wat my getref het, en dit het soos 'n soen gevoel, 'n probleem kan wees, en dan niks regstreeks daaraan gedoen het nie. Daarteenoor, Daniel Fish se gewaagde herwerking van Oklahoma! slaag daarin om al sy karakters vol stem en innerlikheid te bied (weliswaar het Rodgers en Hammerstein op hul eie redelik ver gekom), terwyl hulle steeds verheug was oor sy vreugdevolle liedjies. Sonder om 'n lyn te verander, wys dit ook hoe 'n kultuur van manlike aanspraak en maklike toegang tot wapens 'n hele gemeenskap, grens of andersins, vergiftig. En My Fair Lady van Bartlett Sher, wat hierdie lente gesluit het, het 'n vreemde lyn en toneel uit die Pygmalion -fliek uit 1938 opgehef, hoe beter om die feminisme wat reeds in die DNA van die program ingesluit is, bloot te stel, wat wys hoe Eliza se pad na selfwees nie die onderwerping van 'n man wat nie kon erken dat hy haar liefhet nie. Hy kan sy eie pantoffels kry.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James en Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Foto: Matthew Murphy

Ek het verlede maand by Moulin Rouge aan hierdie verskillende ingrypings gedink, nog 'n verwerking van 'n gewilde film. Die musiekblyspel, met 'n boek van John Logan, het 'n paar rooi vlae laat sak terwyl hy 'n blikkie-dans saam met ander gedans het. Net soos die oorspronklike van Baz Luhrmann, fokus dit blykbaar op Satine, 'n gevierde aktrise en kabaretster, en die mans wat lief is vir haar, Christian, 'n geldlose liedjieskrywer, en die hertog van Monroth, 'n edelman en vervaardiger.

Maar in hierdie weergawe, geregisseer deur Alex Timbers, speel die musical wat Christian skryf nie meer in Indië voor nie, 'n stap wat die bruin gesig en kulturele toeëiening vermy. Die seksualiteit en die skaars kostuums is nou gelyke geleenthede. Die musiekblyspel vervang wyslik die flikkerende poging tot verkragting van die fliek met Satine se oop oë, as dit nie entoesiasties is nie. Dit gee haar selfs 'n semi-edele motief. Sy sal die hertog (nou jonger en warmer en baie minder kranksinnig) afskrik, nie net vir sy geld nie, maar ook om die nagklub te red.

Tog het die musiekblyspel nie die moeite gedoen om die versterkte Satine haar eie ambisies te gee nie - iets wat selfs die film reggekry het, daarmee Satine se drome om 'n regte akteur te word - of om haar karakter net so aktief te maak as die mans wat om haar liggaam meeding. Sy leef, en sterf gerieflik, as inspirasie en voorwerp.

Die daaropvolgende Broadway -seisoen is steeds aan die gang en daar is baie nuwe toneelstukke en musiekblyspele - Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill - wat u nie hoef te bekommer oor opdaterings nie. Maar met werke soos Mrs Doubtfire en Some Like It Hot in ontwikkeling, meer film-tot-musikale verwerkings oor ouens met talente vir transvestitisme, en The Devil Wears Prada, wat feministiese modewoorde gebruik het terwyl hulle neig na geslagstereotipes (om niks te sê van Don nie 't Stop Til You Get Enough, die Michael Jackson -musiekblyspel wat moet besluit of hulle met beskuldigings van Jackson se reeksmisbruik wil reken of nie), sal skeppers moet besluit hoe en of hulle die oorspronklike sal verbeter. As Broadway krediet wil hê omdat hy wakker geword het, moet hy miskien vroeër alarm maak.


Ontwaak Broadway: die moeilikheid om stories vir die verhoog op te dateer

Hier is 'n vraag van Tootsie, die Broadway-musiekblyspel oor 'n out-of-work akteur wat vir sukses suksesvol is: 'In 'n tyd waarin vroue letterlik hul mag tussen die bene van mans terugtrek, het u die vrymoedigheid om neem 'n werk van een weg deur dit te doen? " Die lyn steek om 'n paar redes uit.

Is dit regtig 'n krag waarin vroue belangstel?

Dit is eintlik 'n baie goeie vraag.

Aangesien Broadway toenemend afhanklik is van filmaanpassings en snaakse herlewings, moet skeppers 'n nuwe taak doen (nie dat almal dit doen nie): die hersiening van oorspronklike materiaal sodat dit nie 'n hedendaagse gehoor beledig nie en bewys dat die maak van 'n draaiboek meer sensitief is maak dit nie minder grappig of grappig nie. Boekopdaterings verwyder gewoonlik rassistiese of homofobiese taal en verbeter sommige van die meer voor die hand liggende seksisme, hoewel gewoonlik nie almal nie. Lirieke word ook gereeld aangepas. Maar baie musiekblyspele wat wakker word, slaap nog half. Soos Tootsie, 'n goedbedoelde vertoning, waarskynlik snaakser as die film uit 1982 wat dit geïnspireer het. Dit het homoseksuele paniek ingedruk en sy manlike protagonis met sy optrede laat reken. En tog kon dit steeds nie 'n volledig dimensionele vroulike voorsprong bestuur nie.

Tootsie se ingrypings, indien nie heeltemal suksesvol nie, was meer goedaardig en minder grof as 'n paar ander film-na-musiekverwerkings, King Kong en Pretty Woman, wat albei hierdie maand sluit. King Kong, 'n siniese oefening wat opgebou is rondom 'n reusagtige en weliswaar fantastiese Simian -marionet, probeer 'n deel van die rassisme en rapheid van die oorspronklike film ongedaan maak deur 'n kleurakteur, Christiani Pitts, as die aktrise Ann Darrow te rol en die karakter te ontseksualiseer. Maar deur 'n band te skep tussen 'n swart karakter en die aap en deur die aap haar te leer brul, verhandel Jack Thorne se boek in 'n kommerwekkende primitivisme.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow saam met King Kong. Foto: Matthew Murphy/King Kong op Broadway

King Kong het nie die moeite gedoen om Ann karaktereienskappe toe te ken nie, behalwe vaagweg. Die ander karakters is weer ewe dun. Pretty Woman, 'n hoogwatermerk van die smaaklose en toondowe, het 'n volledig afgeronde karakter met identifiseerbare hoop en drome bestuur. Dit is nie Vivian, die titular looker nie. Sy is nie eers die protagonis nie. Haar vagina is bloot die manier waarop Edward, 'n waagkapitalis, kan groei. Daar is skokkend min aandag gegee aan hoe 'n verhaal oor 'n sekswerker sonder skynbare agentskap nou sal speel. (Tot die helfte van die kapasiteit, die meeste weke.) In wat blykbaar die enigste herstel van die aand is, het die boek van Garry Marshall en JF Lawton haar nou deur Vivian gered deur 'n nie-neem-vir-'n-antwoord-john te slaan. Dit is 'n macho -beweging en 'n verkeerde kop, wat bemagtiging gelyk stel aan geweld.

'N Soortgelyke probleem is die onlangse herlewing van Kiss Me, Kate, hoewel Amanda Green se opdaterings van die boek van Bella en Samuel Spewack en die lirieke van Cole Porter meestal bedagsaam en bedagsaam is. In die oorspronklike, toe die akteur Lilli haar nie aan haar regisseur en toneelvennoot, Fred, onderwerp nie, span hy haar op die verhoog. In hierdie weergawe skop Lilli letterlik sy gat, en in die volgende toneel kan nie een van die twee gaan sit nie, wat die geweld teenoor vroue versag, maar dit voel nog steeds nie as 'n verbetering nie.

Tog klop dit die Carousel van verlede seisoen, wat erken het dat sy vrou-klopheld en sy boek wat my getref het en dit soos 'n soen gevoel het, 'n probleem kan wees en dan niks regstreeks daaraan gedoen het nie. Daarteenoor, Daniel Fish se gewaagde herwerking van Oklahoma! slaag daarin om al sy karakters vol stem en innerlikheid te bied (weliswaar Rodgers en Hammerstein het redelik ver gekom op hul eie), terwyl hulle steeds verheug is oor sy vreugdevolle liedjies. Sonder om 'n lyn te verander, wys dit ook hoe 'n kultuur van manlike aanspraak en maklike toegang tot wapens 'n hele gemeenskap, grens of andersins, vergiftig. And Bartlett Sher’s My Fair Lady, which closed this spring, lifted an odd line and scene from the 1938 Pygmalion movie, the better to expose the feminism already encoded in the show’s DNA, showing how Eliza’s path to selfhood didn’t include submitting to a man who couldn’t admit to loving her. He could get his own slippers.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James and Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Photograph: Matthew Murphy

I thought about these various interventions last month at Moulin Rouge!, another adaptation of a popular film. The musical, with a book by John Logan, lowered some red flags, while doing a can-can dance with others. Like Baz Luhrmann’s original, it apparently centers on Satine, a celebrated actress and cabaret star, and the men who love her, Christian, a penniless songwriter, and the Duke of Monroth, a penniful nobleman and producer.

But in this version, directed by Alex Timbers, the musical that Christian is writing is no longer set in India, a move that dodges brownface and cultural appropriation. The sexuality and the barely-there costumes are now equal opportunity. The musical wisely replaces the movie’s titillating attempted rape with Satine’s open-eyed, if unenthusiastic acquiescence. It even gives her a semi-noble motive. She will boff the Duke (now younger and hotter and a lot less insane) not only for his money, but also to save the nightclub.

Yet the musical hasn’t bothered to give the toughened up Satine her own ambitions –something even the movie managed, with that Satine’s dreams of becoming a real actor — or to make her character as active as the men competing for her body. She lives, and conveniently dies, as inspiration and object.

The following Broadway season is still in flux and there are plenty of new plays and musicals – Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill – that don’t have to worry about updates. But with works such as Mrs Doubtfire and Some Like It Hot in development, more movie-to-musical adaptations about guys with talents for transvestitism, and The Devil Wears Prada, which used feminist buzzwords while leaning into gender stereotypes (to say nothing of Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough, the Michael Jackson musical that must decide whether or not to reckon with accusations of Jackson’s serial abuse), creators will have to decide how or if they will improve on the originals. If Broadway wants credit for being woke, maybe it should set its alarm earlier.


Woke up Broadway: the difficulty of updating stories for the stage

H ere is a question from Tootsie, the Broadway musical about an out-of-work actor who cross-dresses for success: “At a time when women are literally clutching their power back from between the legs of men, you have the audacity to take a job away from one by perpetrating one?” That line sticks out for a few reasons.

Is that really a power women are interested in?

It’s actually a pretty good question.

As Broadway increasingly depends on movie adaptations and snazzy revivals, creators have a new job to do (not that all of them do it): revising original material so that it won’t affront a contemporary audience and proving that making a script more sensitive doesn’t make it any less trenchant or funny. Book updates typically remove racist or homophobic language and improve some, though usually not all, of the more obvious sexism. Lyrics are often receive a tweak, too. But many musicals that aim for woke are still half-asleep. Like Tootsie, a well-intentioned show, arguably funnier than the 1982 film that inspired it. It tamped down the gay panic and made its male protagonist reckon with his actions. And yet it still couldn’t manage a fully dimensional female lead.

Tootsie’s interventions, if not entirely successful, were more benign and less crude than a couple of other movie-to musical adaptations, King Kong and Pretty Woman, both of which close this month. King Kong, a cynical exercise built around a gigantic and admittedly fantastic simian puppet, attempts to undo some of the racism and rapiness of the original film by casting an actor of color, Christiani Pitts, as the actress Ann Darrow and desexualizing that character. But in creating a bond between a black character and the ape and having that ape teach her how to roar, Jack Thorne’s book trades in a worrying primitivism.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow with King Kong. Photograph: Matthew Murphy/King Kong on Broadway

King Kong hasn’t bothered to assign Ann character traits other than vaguely plucky. Then again its other characters are equally thin. Pretty Woman, a high water mark of the tasteless and the tone deaf, has managed a fully rounded character with identifiable hopes and dreams. It’s not Vivian, the titular looker. She isn’t even the protagonist. Her vagina is merely the means by which Edward, a venture capitalist, can grow. Shockingly little attention has been paid to how a story about a sex worker without apparent agency will play now. (To half capacity, most weeks.) In what is seemingly the evening’s only recuperative effort, Garry Marshall and JF Lawton’s book now has Vivian rescue herself by beating up a won’t-take-no-for-an-answer john. It’s a macho move and a wrongheaded one, equating empowerment with violence.

A similar problem beset the recently closed revival of Kiss Me, Kate, though Amanda Green’s updates to Bella and Samuel Spewack’s book and Cole Porter’s lyrics are mostly canny and thoughtful. In the original, when the actor Lilli won’t submit to her director and scene partner, Fred, he spanks her onstage. In this version, Lilli literally kicks his ass and in the next scene neither can sit down, which softens the violence against women, but still doesn’t feel like an improvement.

Yet it beats last season’s Carousel, which acknowledged that its wife-beater hero and its he-hit-me-and-it-felt-like-a-kiss book might be a problem and then did nothing about it directorially. By contrast, Daniel Fish’s daring reworking of Oklahoma! manages to offer full voice and interiority to all its characters (admittedly Rodgers and Hammerstein got pretty far on their own), while still delighting in its joyous songs. Without changing a line, it also shows how a culture of male entitlement and easy gun access poisons a whole community, frontier or otherwise. And Bartlett Sher’s My Fair Lady, which closed this spring, lifted an odd line and scene from the 1938 Pygmalion movie, the better to expose the feminism already encoded in the show’s DNA, showing how Eliza’s path to selfhood didn’t include submitting to a man who couldn’t admit to loving her. He could get his own slippers.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James and Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Photograph: Matthew Murphy

I thought about these various interventions last month at Moulin Rouge!, another adaptation of a popular film. The musical, with a book by John Logan, lowered some red flags, while doing a can-can dance with others. Like Baz Luhrmann’s original, it apparently centers on Satine, a celebrated actress and cabaret star, and the men who love her, Christian, a penniless songwriter, and the Duke of Monroth, a penniful nobleman and producer.

But in this version, directed by Alex Timbers, the musical that Christian is writing is no longer set in India, a move that dodges brownface and cultural appropriation. The sexuality and the barely-there costumes are now equal opportunity. The musical wisely replaces the movie’s titillating attempted rape with Satine’s open-eyed, if unenthusiastic acquiescence. It even gives her a semi-noble motive. She will boff the Duke (now younger and hotter and a lot less insane) not only for his money, but also to save the nightclub.

Yet the musical hasn’t bothered to give the toughened up Satine her own ambitions –something even the movie managed, with that Satine’s dreams of becoming a real actor — or to make her character as active as the men competing for her body. She lives, and conveniently dies, as inspiration and object.

The following Broadway season is still in flux and there are plenty of new plays and musicals – Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill – that don’t have to worry about updates. But with works such as Mrs Doubtfire and Some Like It Hot in development, more movie-to-musical adaptations about guys with talents for transvestitism, and The Devil Wears Prada, which used feminist buzzwords while leaning into gender stereotypes (to say nothing of Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough, the Michael Jackson musical that must decide whether or not to reckon with accusations of Jackson’s serial abuse), creators will have to decide how or if they will improve on the originals. If Broadway wants credit for being woke, maybe it should set its alarm earlier.


Woke up Broadway: the difficulty of updating stories for the stage

H ere is a question from Tootsie, the Broadway musical about an out-of-work actor who cross-dresses for success: “At a time when women are literally clutching their power back from between the legs of men, you have the audacity to take a job away from one by perpetrating one?” That line sticks out for a few reasons.

Is that really a power women are interested in?

It’s actually a pretty good question.

As Broadway increasingly depends on movie adaptations and snazzy revivals, creators have a new job to do (not that all of them do it): revising original material so that it won’t affront a contemporary audience and proving that making a script more sensitive doesn’t make it any less trenchant or funny. Book updates typically remove racist or homophobic language and improve some, though usually not all, of the more obvious sexism. Lyrics are often receive a tweak, too. But many musicals that aim for woke are still half-asleep. Like Tootsie, a well-intentioned show, arguably funnier than the 1982 film that inspired it. It tamped down the gay panic and made its male protagonist reckon with his actions. And yet it still couldn’t manage a fully dimensional female lead.

Tootsie’s interventions, if not entirely successful, were more benign and less crude than a couple of other movie-to musical adaptations, King Kong and Pretty Woman, both of which close this month. King Kong, a cynical exercise built around a gigantic and admittedly fantastic simian puppet, attempts to undo some of the racism and rapiness of the original film by casting an actor of color, Christiani Pitts, as the actress Ann Darrow and desexualizing that character. But in creating a bond between a black character and the ape and having that ape teach her how to roar, Jack Thorne’s book trades in a worrying primitivism.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow with King Kong. Photograph: Matthew Murphy/King Kong on Broadway

King Kong hasn’t bothered to assign Ann character traits other than vaguely plucky. Then again its other characters are equally thin. Pretty Woman, a high water mark of the tasteless and the tone deaf, has managed a fully rounded character with identifiable hopes and dreams. It’s not Vivian, the titular looker. She isn’t even the protagonist. Her vagina is merely the means by which Edward, a venture capitalist, can grow. Shockingly little attention has been paid to how a story about a sex worker without apparent agency will play now. (To half capacity, most weeks.) In what is seemingly the evening’s only recuperative effort, Garry Marshall and JF Lawton’s book now has Vivian rescue herself by beating up a won’t-take-no-for-an-answer john. It’s a macho move and a wrongheaded one, equating empowerment with violence.

A similar problem beset the recently closed revival of Kiss Me, Kate, though Amanda Green’s updates to Bella and Samuel Spewack’s book and Cole Porter’s lyrics are mostly canny and thoughtful. In the original, when the actor Lilli won’t submit to her director and scene partner, Fred, he spanks her onstage. In this version, Lilli literally kicks his ass and in the next scene neither can sit down, which softens the violence against women, but still doesn’t feel like an improvement.

Yet it beats last season’s Carousel, which acknowledged that its wife-beater hero and its he-hit-me-and-it-felt-like-a-kiss book might be a problem and then did nothing about it directorially. By contrast, Daniel Fish’s daring reworking of Oklahoma! manages to offer full voice and interiority to all its characters (admittedly Rodgers and Hammerstein got pretty far on their own), while still delighting in its joyous songs. Without changing a line, it also shows how a culture of male entitlement and easy gun access poisons a whole community, frontier or otherwise. And Bartlett Sher’s My Fair Lady, which closed this spring, lifted an odd line and scene from the 1938 Pygmalion movie, the better to expose the feminism already encoded in the show’s DNA, showing how Eliza’s path to selfhood didn’t include submitting to a man who couldn’t admit to loving her. He could get his own slippers.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James and Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Photograph: Matthew Murphy

I thought about these various interventions last month at Moulin Rouge!, another adaptation of a popular film. The musical, with a book by John Logan, lowered some red flags, while doing a can-can dance with others. Like Baz Luhrmann’s original, it apparently centers on Satine, a celebrated actress and cabaret star, and the men who love her, Christian, a penniless songwriter, and the Duke of Monroth, a penniful nobleman and producer.

But in this version, directed by Alex Timbers, the musical that Christian is writing is no longer set in India, a move that dodges brownface and cultural appropriation. The sexuality and the barely-there costumes are now equal opportunity. The musical wisely replaces the movie’s titillating attempted rape with Satine’s open-eyed, if unenthusiastic acquiescence. It even gives her a semi-noble motive. She will boff the Duke (now younger and hotter and a lot less insane) not only for his money, but also to save the nightclub.

Yet the musical hasn’t bothered to give the toughened up Satine her own ambitions –something even the movie managed, with that Satine’s dreams of becoming a real actor — or to make her character as active as the men competing for her body. She lives, and conveniently dies, as inspiration and object.

The following Broadway season is still in flux and there are plenty of new plays and musicals – Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill – that don’t have to worry about updates. But with works such as Mrs Doubtfire and Some Like It Hot in development, more movie-to-musical adaptations about guys with talents for transvestitism, and The Devil Wears Prada, which used feminist buzzwords while leaning into gender stereotypes (to say nothing of Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough, the Michael Jackson musical that must decide whether or not to reckon with accusations of Jackson’s serial abuse), creators will have to decide how or if they will improve on the originals. If Broadway wants credit for being woke, maybe it should set its alarm earlier.


Woke up Broadway: the difficulty of updating stories for the stage

H ere is a question from Tootsie, the Broadway musical about an out-of-work actor who cross-dresses for success: “At a time when women are literally clutching their power back from between the legs of men, you have the audacity to take a job away from one by perpetrating one?” That line sticks out for a few reasons.

Is that really a power women are interested in?

It’s actually a pretty good question.

As Broadway increasingly depends on movie adaptations and snazzy revivals, creators have a new job to do (not that all of them do it): revising original material so that it won’t affront a contemporary audience and proving that making a script more sensitive doesn’t make it any less trenchant or funny. Book updates typically remove racist or homophobic language and improve some, though usually not all, of the more obvious sexism. Lyrics are often receive a tweak, too. But many musicals that aim for woke are still half-asleep. Like Tootsie, a well-intentioned show, arguably funnier than the 1982 film that inspired it. It tamped down the gay panic and made its male protagonist reckon with his actions. And yet it still couldn’t manage a fully dimensional female lead.

Tootsie’s interventions, if not entirely successful, were more benign and less crude than a couple of other movie-to musical adaptations, King Kong and Pretty Woman, both of which close this month. King Kong, a cynical exercise built around a gigantic and admittedly fantastic simian puppet, attempts to undo some of the racism and rapiness of the original film by casting an actor of color, Christiani Pitts, as the actress Ann Darrow and desexualizing that character. But in creating a bond between a black character and the ape and having that ape teach her how to roar, Jack Thorne’s book trades in a worrying primitivism.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow with King Kong. Photograph: Matthew Murphy/King Kong on Broadway

King Kong hasn’t bothered to assign Ann character traits other than vaguely plucky. Then again its other characters are equally thin. Pretty Woman, a high water mark of the tasteless and the tone deaf, has managed a fully rounded character with identifiable hopes and dreams. It’s not Vivian, the titular looker. She isn’t even the protagonist. Her vagina is merely the means by which Edward, a venture capitalist, can grow. Shockingly little attention has been paid to how a story about a sex worker without apparent agency will play now. (To half capacity, most weeks.) In what is seemingly the evening’s only recuperative effort, Garry Marshall and JF Lawton’s book now has Vivian rescue herself by beating up a won’t-take-no-for-an-answer john. It’s a macho move and a wrongheaded one, equating empowerment with violence.

A similar problem beset the recently closed revival of Kiss Me, Kate, though Amanda Green’s updates to Bella and Samuel Spewack’s book and Cole Porter’s lyrics are mostly canny and thoughtful. In the original, when the actor Lilli won’t submit to her director and scene partner, Fred, he spanks her onstage. In this version, Lilli literally kicks his ass and in the next scene neither can sit down, which softens the violence against women, but still doesn’t feel like an improvement.

Yet it beats last season’s Carousel, which acknowledged that its wife-beater hero and its he-hit-me-and-it-felt-like-a-kiss book might be a problem and then did nothing about it directorially. By contrast, Daniel Fish’s daring reworking of Oklahoma! manages to offer full voice and interiority to all its characters (admittedly Rodgers and Hammerstein got pretty far on their own), while still delighting in its joyous songs. Without changing a line, it also shows how a culture of male entitlement and easy gun access poisons a whole community, frontier or otherwise. And Bartlett Sher’s My Fair Lady, which closed this spring, lifted an odd line and scene from the 1938 Pygmalion movie, the better to expose the feminism already encoded in the show’s DNA, showing how Eliza’s path to selfhood didn’t include submitting to a man who couldn’t admit to loving her. He could get his own slippers.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James and Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Photograph: Matthew Murphy

I thought about these various interventions last month at Moulin Rouge!, another adaptation of a popular film. The musical, with a book by John Logan, lowered some red flags, while doing a can-can dance with others. Like Baz Luhrmann’s original, it apparently centers on Satine, a celebrated actress and cabaret star, and the men who love her, Christian, a penniless songwriter, and the Duke of Monroth, a penniful nobleman and producer.

But in this version, directed by Alex Timbers, the musical that Christian is writing is no longer set in India, a move that dodges brownface and cultural appropriation. The sexuality and the barely-there costumes are now equal opportunity. The musical wisely replaces the movie’s titillating attempted rape with Satine’s open-eyed, if unenthusiastic acquiescence. It even gives her a semi-noble motive. She will boff the Duke (now younger and hotter and a lot less insane) not only for his money, but also to save the nightclub.

Yet the musical hasn’t bothered to give the toughened up Satine her own ambitions –something even the movie managed, with that Satine’s dreams of becoming a real actor — or to make her character as active as the men competing for her body. She lives, and conveniently dies, as inspiration and object.

The following Broadway season is still in flux and there are plenty of new plays and musicals – Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill – that don’t have to worry about updates. But with works such as Mrs Doubtfire and Some Like It Hot in development, more movie-to-musical adaptations about guys with talents for transvestitism, and The Devil Wears Prada, which used feminist buzzwords while leaning into gender stereotypes (to say nothing of Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough, the Michael Jackson musical that must decide whether or not to reckon with accusations of Jackson’s serial abuse), creators will have to decide how or if they will improve on the originals. If Broadway wants credit for being woke, maybe it should set its alarm earlier.


Woke up Broadway: the difficulty of updating stories for the stage

H ere is a question from Tootsie, the Broadway musical about an out-of-work actor who cross-dresses for success: “At a time when women are literally clutching their power back from between the legs of men, you have the audacity to take a job away from one by perpetrating one?” That line sticks out for a few reasons.

Is that really a power women are interested in?

It’s actually a pretty good question.

As Broadway increasingly depends on movie adaptations and snazzy revivals, creators have a new job to do (not that all of them do it): revising original material so that it won’t affront a contemporary audience and proving that making a script more sensitive doesn’t make it any less trenchant or funny. Book updates typically remove racist or homophobic language and improve some, though usually not all, of the more obvious sexism. Lyrics are often receive a tweak, too. But many musicals that aim for woke are still half-asleep. Like Tootsie, a well-intentioned show, arguably funnier than the 1982 film that inspired it. It tamped down the gay panic and made its male protagonist reckon with his actions. And yet it still couldn’t manage a fully dimensional female lead.

Tootsie’s interventions, if not entirely successful, were more benign and less crude than a couple of other movie-to musical adaptations, King Kong and Pretty Woman, both of which close this month. King Kong, a cynical exercise built around a gigantic and admittedly fantastic simian puppet, attempts to undo some of the racism and rapiness of the original film by casting an actor of color, Christiani Pitts, as the actress Ann Darrow and desexualizing that character. But in creating a bond between a black character and the ape and having that ape teach her how to roar, Jack Thorne’s book trades in a worrying primitivism.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow with King Kong. Photograph: Matthew Murphy/King Kong on Broadway

King Kong hasn’t bothered to assign Ann character traits other than vaguely plucky. Then again its other characters are equally thin. Pretty Woman, a high water mark of the tasteless and the tone deaf, has managed a fully rounded character with identifiable hopes and dreams. It’s not Vivian, the titular looker. She isn’t even the protagonist. Her vagina is merely the means by which Edward, a venture capitalist, can grow. Shockingly little attention has been paid to how a story about a sex worker without apparent agency will play now. (To half capacity, most weeks.) In what is seemingly the evening’s only recuperative effort, Garry Marshall and JF Lawton’s book now has Vivian rescue herself by beating up a won’t-take-no-for-an-answer john. It’s a macho move and a wrongheaded one, equating empowerment with violence.

A similar problem beset the recently closed revival of Kiss Me, Kate, though Amanda Green’s updates to Bella and Samuel Spewack’s book and Cole Porter’s lyrics are mostly canny and thoughtful. In the original, when the actor Lilli won’t submit to her director and scene partner, Fred, he spanks her onstage. In this version, Lilli literally kicks his ass and in the next scene neither can sit down, which softens the violence against women, but still doesn’t feel like an improvement.

Yet it beats last season’s Carousel, which acknowledged that its wife-beater hero and its he-hit-me-and-it-felt-like-a-kiss book might be a problem and then did nothing about it directorially. By contrast, Daniel Fish’s daring reworking of Oklahoma! manages to offer full voice and interiority to all its characters (admittedly Rodgers and Hammerstein got pretty far on their own), while still delighting in its joyous songs. Without changing a line, it also shows how a culture of male entitlement and easy gun access poisons a whole community, frontier or otherwise. And Bartlett Sher’s My Fair Lady, which closed this spring, lifted an odd line and scene from the 1938 Pygmalion movie, the better to expose the feminism already encoded in the show’s DNA, showing how Eliza’s path to selfhood didn’t include submitting to a man who couldn’t admit to loving her. He could get his own slippers.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James and Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Photograph: Matthew Murphy

I thought about these various interventions last month at Moulin Rouge!, another adaptation of a popular film. The musical, with a book by John Logan, lowered some red flags, while doing a can-can dance with others. Like Baz Luhrmann’s original, it apparently centers on Satine, a celebrated actress and cabaret star, and the men who love her, Christian, a penniless songwriter, and the Duke of Monroth, a penniful nobleman and producer.

But in this version, directed by Alex Timbers, the musical that Christian is writing is no longer set in India, a move that dodges brownface and cultural appropriation. The sexuality and the barely-there costumes are now equal opportunity. The musical wisely replaces the movie’s titillating attempted rape with Satine’s open-eyed, if unenthusiastic acquiescence. It even gives her a semi-noble motive. She will boff the Duke (now younger and hotter and a lot less insane) not only for his money, but also to save the nightclub.

Yet the musical hasn’t bothered to give the toughened up Satine her own ambitions –something even the movie managed, with that Satine’s dreams of becoming a real actor — or to make her character as active as the men competing for her body. She lives, and conveniently dies, as inspiration and object.

The following Broadway season is still in flux and there are plenty of new plays and musicals – Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill – that don’t have to worry about updates. But with works such as Mrs Doubtfire and Some Like It Hot in development, more movie-to-musical adaptations about guys with talents for transvestitism, and The Devil Wears Prada, which used feminist buzzwords while leaning into gender stereotypes (to say nothing of Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough, the Michael Jackson musical that must decide whether or not to reckon with accusations of Jackson’s serial abuse), creators will have to decide how or if they will improve on the originals. If Broadway wants credit for being woke, maybe it should set its alarm earlier.


Woke up Broadway: the difficulty of updating stories for the stage

H ere is a question from Tootsie, the Broadway musical about an out-of-work actor who cross-dresses for success: “At a time when women are literally clutching their power back from between the legs of men, you have the audacity to take a job away from one by perpetrating one?” That line sticks out for a few reasons.

Is that really a power women are interested in?

It’s actually a pretty good question.

As Broadway increasingly depends on movie adaptations and snazzy revivals, creators have a new job to do (not that all of them do it): revising original material so that it won’t affront a contemporary audience and proving that making a script more sensitive doesn’t make it any less trenchant or funny. Book updates typically remove racist or homophobic language and improve some, though usually not all, of the more obvious sexism. Lyrics are often receive a tweak, too. But many musicals that aim for woke are still half-asleep. Like Tootsie, a well-intentioned show, arguably funnier than the 1982 film that inspired it. It tamped down the gay panic and made its male protagonist reckon with his actions. And yet it still couldn’t manage a fully dimensional female lead.

Tootsie’s interventions, if not entirely successful, were more benign and less crude than a couple of other movie-to musical adaptations, King Kong and Pretty Woman, both of which close this month. King Kong, a cynical exercise built around a gigantic and admittedly fantastic simian puppet, attempts to undo some of the racism and rapiness of the original film by casting an actor of color, Christiani Pitts, as the actress Ann Darrow and desexualizing that character. But in creating a bond between a black character and the ape and having that ape teach her how to roar, Jack Thorne’s book trades in a worrying primitivism.

Christiani Pitts as Ann Darrow with King Kong. Photograph: Matthew Murphy/King Kong on Broadway

King Kong hasn’t bothered to assign Ann character traits other than vaguely plucky. Then again its other characters are equally thin. Pretty Woman, a high water mark of the tasteless and the tone deaf, has managed a fully rounded character with identifiable hopes and dreams. It’s not Vivian, the titular looker. She isn’t even the protagonist. Her vagina is merely the means by which Edward, a venture capitalist, can grow. Shockingly little attention has been paid to how a story about a sex worker without apparent agency will play now. (To half capacity, most weeks.) In what is seemingly the evening’s only recuperative effort, Garry Marshall and JF Lawton’s book now has Vivian rescue herself by beating up a won’t-take-no-for-an-answer john. It’s a macho move and a wrongheaded one, equating empowerment with violence.

A similar problem beset the recently closed revival of Kiss Me, Kate, though Amanda Green’s updates to Bella and Samuel Spewack’s book and Cole Porter’s lyrics are mostly canny and thoughtful. In the original, when the actor Lilli won’t submit to her director and scene partner, Fred, he spanks her onstage. In this version, Lilli literally kicks his ass and in the next scene neither can sit down, which softens the violence against women, but still doesn’t feel like an improvement.

Yet it beats last season’s Carousel, which acknowledged that its wife-beater hero and its he-hit-me-and-it-felt-like-a-kiss book might be a problem and then did nothing about it directorially. By contrast, Daniel Fish’s daring reworking of Oklahoma! manages to offer full voice and interiority to all its characters (admittedly Rodgers and Hammerstein got pretty far on their own), while still delighting in its joyous songs. Without changing a line, it also shows how a culture of male entitlement and easy gun access poisons a whole community, frontier or otherwise. And Bartlett Sher’s My Fair Lady, which closed this spring, lifted an odd line and scene from the 1938 Pygmalion movie, the better to expose the feminism already encoded in the show’s DNA, showing how Eliza’s path to selfhood didn’t include submitting to a man who couldn’t admit to loving her. He could get his own slippers.

Jacqueline B Arnold, Robyn Hurder, Holly James and Jeigh Madjus in Moulin Rouge. Photograph: Matthew Murphy

I thought about these various interventions last month at Moulin Rouge!, another adaptation of a popular film. The musical, with a book by John Logan, lowered some red flags, while doing a can-can dance with others. Like Baz Luhrmann’s original, it apparently centers on Satine, a celebrated actress and cabaret star, and the men who love her, Christian, a penniless songwriter, and the Duke of Monroth, a penniful nobleman and producer.

But in this version, directed by Alex Timbers, the musical that Christian is writing is no longer set in India, a move that dodges brownface and cultural appropriation. The sexuality and the barely-there costumes are now equal opportunity. The musical wisely replaces the movie’s titillating attempted rape with Satine’s open-eyed, if unenthusiastic acquiescence. It even gives her a semi-noble motive. She will boff the Duke (now younger and hotter and a lot less insane) not only for his money, but also to save the nightclub.

Yet the musical hasn’t bothered to give the toughened up Satine her own ambitions –something even the movie managed, with that Satine’s dreams of becoming a real actor — or to make her character as active as the men competing for her body. She lives, and conveniently dies, as inspiration and object.

The following Broadway season is still in flux and there are plenty of new plays and musicals – Slave Play, Six, The Inheritance, Jagged Little Pill – that don’t have to worry about updates. But with works such as Mrs Doubtfire and Some Like It Hot in development, more movie-to-musical adaptations about guys with talents for transvestitism, and The Devil Wears Prada, which used feminist buzzwords while leaning into gender stereotypes (to say nothing of Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough, the Michael Jackson musical that must decide whether or not to reckon with accusations of Jackson’s serial abuse), creators will have to decide how or if they will improve on the originals. If Broadway wants credit for being woke, maybe it should set its alarm earlier.


Kyk die video: Broadway - Augsburg Landbougimnasium Skoolkonsert (Junie 2022).


Kommentaar:

  1. Gadhra

    Sekerlik. Ek sluit aan by al die bogenoemde. Laat ons probeer om die vraag te bespreek

  2. Dot

    Sport esel!))

  3. Maher

    Bravo, hierdie merkwaardige idee is terloops nodig

  4. Ardwolf

    Dieselfde...



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