With playgoing on hiatus, the contributors to New York Stage Review have decided to provide our readers with alternate discussions of theater: think pieces, book/music/video reviews, and the like. We would much rather be reviewing live theater, and we look forward to the day when the curtain rises once again.
Patti LuPone owns a shelf of music cassettes on her wall, and a lit-up jukebox. Alan Menken’s piano sits near window cards for Leap of Faith and the German production of Hunchback of Notre Dame. Lin-Manuel Miranda actually lives In the Heights with a view of the George Washington Bridge. Tituss Burgess’s living room proudly displays Stephen Sondheim’s two collections of lyrics.
Such were some of the visual clues to offstage digs in the course of a livestreamed, three-and-a-half-hour reboot of TV’s Rosie O’Donnell Show as a benefit for the Actors Fund of America. Producer Erich Bergen (also an actor in TV’s Madam Secretary and Broadway’s Waitress) had the idea to put the theater community’s most vocal and visible cheerleader of the late 1990s/early 2000s back in the saddle for a night. The lineup was classic Rosie, a cavalcade of just-between-us chats with, and performances by, some 60 stars in isolation from COVID-19, captured by minicams and iPhones in video “windows” from as far away as Manila (Lea Salonga). As Neil Patrick Harris remarked, wide-eyed, “You’re watching them in their kitchens!” If we’d all much rather be seeing them where they belong—on America’s live stages—it’s been a long time since Edward R. Murrow brought cameras into people’s homes for TV’s Person to Person, so it all made for an engaging, often touching (if somewhat exhausting) change of pace.
Rosie’s affection for her theater idols and admiration for their talents are undeniable as ever, and undiminished. She kicked things off by cheering that it allowed her to miss a Trump press conference, but that was just about the last political moment. Otherwise it was a cavalcade of “What are you doing with this time off?” (cooking, cleaning, and bonding with the kids were the clear winners), and invites from Rosie to get together for dinner “when we can.” Those whose shows are on hiatus were sad; those whose shows have yet to come in—Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker of Plaza Suite; Darren Criss of American Buffalo—were arguably even sadder. But every guest put on the most positive face, vowing that Broadway would come back even stronger and urging all viewers to donate. (“Over $500,000” was the announced haul, one-fifth of which was pledged by Rosie then and there.)
Naturally there were glitches along the way, as cameras stalled out for buffering and singing voices got fuzzy or dropped out altogether. Only on the third try were we able to hear Adrienne Warren nail “Simply the Best” in her bathtub, by which point all her bubbles had vanished. (If Tina: The Tina Turner Musical ever reopens, Warren’s killer rendition will surely sell tickets, though of course we all sound better surrounded by porcelain.) A tireless Bergen made for an affable if harried tech support guy, adding a welcome improvisational air that would’ve been absent had everything gone smoothly.
The night’s beneficiary was seldom out of mind. Headliners, admitting they’ve been blessed with success, kept reminding us of the thousands of actors, tech people, and staffers who are financially struggling and terrified. The Fund’s century-plus of service was cited by chair Brian Stokes Mitchell and vice-chair Annette Bening, and reinforced anecdotally by Billy Porter, who forthrightly acknowledged he got assistance when his career stalled out years ago. Porter then sent a shout-out to his mom, currently residing in the Actors Fund Retirement Home.
COVID-19 reality checks were few but potent. O’Donnell referred several times to her oldest son’s working at a local New Jersey grocery, apprehension mixed with a mother’s pride in her child’s desire to give back. The emotional high point was Gavin Creel’s revelation that he’s “pretty sure” he’s suffering from coronavirus contracted through a Waitress castmate in London. Speaking from what he called a remote cabin in upstate New York, Creel put a relatable celebrity face on the pandemic, calling the ailment “a cruddy flu” which has caused him to lose all taste and smell: “I’m eating asparagus, and it might as well be rubber.” His brave rendition of the Waitress ballad “You Matter to Me” did more than mere words could, to convey a hopeful message: This sucks, but it doesn’t have to be fatal. One can recover.
Creel accompanied himself on piano, as did Menken in a medley of 11 of his showtunes, including his four Oscar winners (one forgets what an amazing catalog that man has assembled). Laura Benanti, Kelli O’Hara, and Warren sang to prerecorded tracks, and there were two versions of Chaplin’s “Smile”: LuPone’s a cappella, and Audra McDonald’s with husband Will Swenson on guitar. Ben Platt did a touching cover of Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love,” and Jordan Fisher, who inherited Platt’s Evan Hansen mantle, gave us a stunning “For Forever.” Lauren Patten took the opportunity to sing a Jagged Little Pill hit (“Ironic”) that she doesn’t get to perform in the show, and Kristin Chenoweth reprised “Taylor the Latte Boy” as sung in her Rosie debut in 1999.
Hovering over the evening, begun with volumes hovering over Tituss Burgess’s shoulder, was Sondheim, whose 90th birthday that very night was saluted by guests fully appreciative of what he represents to the shuttered industry. Kelli O’Hara offered “Take Me to the World” from Evening Primrose, while singer-guitarist Criss delivered a smashing folk-rock-style “Being Alive” from Company, whose gender-switched revival was scheduled to have opened on this very same night.
Then came a prerecorded tribute from the piano bench of yet another March 22 birthday boy, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber. The clip cut to a bathroom, in which a familiar figure in T-shirt and sweats ran the sink water and hit “start” on a timer set to 20 seconds. Yes, Stephen Sondheim, the preeminent theatrical composer-lyricist of our time, washed his hands while murmuring Mildred and Patty Hill’s musical tribute to the natal day, ending with “Happy birthday, dear Andrew” as the buzzer rang. Who better to remind us that when this miserable plague goes away, we have to Move On?
