Beyoncé stepped out for the first time last night, but Baby Blue was no where in sight. This begs the question — where is Blue Ivy Carter being hidden, and why haven’t we seen a picture of her?

Enough with the Suri Cruise act — it’s been done. Thirty days (and counting) after the birth of hip-hop royalty Blue Ivy Carter, no photos have been leaked. Quite frankly, we’re beginning to doubt Baby Blue’s existence. After the drama we suffered over the sequence of the newborn’s name (was it Ivy Blue? Blue Ivy?), we as a nation deserve some follow-up. We demand TwitPics.

It’s not like Blue Ivy’s parents are in hiding anymore, either. Proud new mama Beyoncé Knowles was spotted in public for the first time since giving birth at husband Jay-Z’s benefit show for United Way of New York City at Carnegie Hall. The star was wearing spiky Louboutins and an Alice Temperly dress with a level of cleavage usually reserved for Sofia Vergara (not that we’re complaining).

But if Beyoncé, Jay-Z, and even Grandma Tina were okay to have a night out, why not Blue? TMZ, is that tricked-out minivan really so hard to find?

Not that we advocate baby-stalking. We prefer to think of it as dedication to the Beyoncé and Jay-Z gene pool, or pure curiosity. Could these two particularly attractive superstars have had — gasp! — an ugly baby?

We’ll be here, killing time by watching that old Crazy in Love video, waiting.

MORE FASTER ENTERTAINMENT NEWS

Blue Ivy is the Name of Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s Baby, Not a New Smurf or 1940s Jazz Tune

The Douchebag Who Created ‘Girls Gone Wild’ Threatens to Sue Madonna

Adele to Perform At The 2012 Grammys

That is the promising premise — not so far from the truth — behind “Rx,” a new play by Kate Fodor.

Phil (Stephen Kunken, “Enron,” “High”) is a doctor who is conducting clinical trials for the drug SP-925 (Get it? 9 to 5), which will be marketed as ThriveOn. He falls in love with patient Meena (Marin Hinkle, best-known for playing Alan Harper’s — Jon Cryer’s — ex-wife on “Two and A Half Men”). But complications ensue, and soon Phil is seeking to be part of a new clinical trial for another drug, SP-214 (2/14, Valentine’s Day), which the pharmaceutical company hopes will cure heartbreak.

Now, Fodor is a playwright I first discovered as the author about eight years ago of “Hannah and Martin,” based on the real-life friendship between “Banality of Evil” anti-Nazi author Hannah Arendt and the German philosopher Martin Heidegger (“Being and Time”), who was a member of the Nazi Party. And “Rx” is directed by Ethan McSweeny, who directed the 2000 Broadway production of “Gore Vidal’s The Best Man” (which is being revived yet again this season), a play about corruption and cowardly compromise in presidential politics.

Given who’s behind the show, one might be forgiven for expecting “Rx” to be a sophisticated modern update of “Brave New World,” scoring intellectually provocative points about the pharmaceutical industry or the American workplace or our general infatuation with instant cures. Are we a society of prescription, and prescriptive, addicts? Do we choose to turn life’s normal ups and downs into problems that need cures?

It is certainly a satire that touches on all these issues. But the touch is light and slight. “Rx” turns out to be your basic romantic comedy, veering more often towards the silly than the sophisticated. Meena works as managing editor of “Piggeries, American Cattle and Swine Magazine.” When she needs to cry, she goes off to a nearby department store and hides in a remote corner where they sell old ladies’ underwear – and suddenly Lee Savage’s simple set includes, suspending from the rafters, rack after rack of large colorful panties.

The play gets away with this goofiness because of its stellar cast, which also includes Marylouise Burke as an elderly woman who actually shops for that lingerie. Burke is one of those ageless troopers whose face is instantly recognizable even if you can’t place her name or roles (“Into the Woods” on Broadway, “30 Rock” on TV, “Sideways” on film, etc.), and she makes more of Frances than is written, especially when the character turns from fanciful into sorrowful.

Of particular note as well is Elizabeth Rich, who plays Phil’s boss, a no-nonsense businesswoman who wears a different outfit in every scene, a well-observed and subtly hilarious wardrobe by costume designer Andrea Lauer, the kind of fashionable armor that you imagine might be worn by that vice president at the Susan G. Komen foundation that set off the Planned Parenthood fiasco.

For up-to-the-minute theater news, views and reviews, follow Jonathan Mandell on his Twitter feed at @NewYorkTheater
New York Theater Facebook page

Rx
Primary Stages at 59E59 Theaters (59 East 59th Street)
By Kate Fodor
Directed by Ethan McSweeny
Set design by Lee Savage, costume design by Andrea Lauer, lighting design by Matthew Richards, original music and sound design by Lindsay Jones
Cast: Michael Bakkensen, Marylouise Burke, Marin Hinkle, Stephen Kunken, Paul Niebanck, Elizabeth Rich
Running time: 100 minutes with no intermission
Ticket prices: $65
“Rx” is schedule to run through March 3, 2012

A scene from Russian Seasons. Photo by Paul Kolnik

One could not imagine two ballerinas more different from each other than Sara Mearns and Teresa Reichlen, both of New York City Ballet. Mearns, all wild attack and in-the-moment electricity; Teresa Reichlen, basking in cool effortlessness and Botticellian radiance. To see them in successive ballets, as one often does, is like experiencing a radical shift in scenery: from stormy seas to a cool forest dell. But to see them dancing together, as we did a few nights ago (Jan. 31), in the leading roles of “Concerto Barocco,” is to watch two different ballets overlapping in time. Each dancer could steal just a little something from the other; Mearns could rein herself in just a touch, for the sake of balance and delicacy, just in this ballet; Reichlen could let herself go a little bit more, come down just slightly from her golden cloud. On the other hand, it is exciting to see them together; their wildly different approaches accentuate the “conversational” aspect of the ballet, the way in which one violin calls out to the other, which responds, in its own voice. This is a ballet about women, the ways in which they interact, their differences and partnerships and graceful alliances, in which the lone man (danced by a reverent and self-effacing Justin Peck) serves only to further exalt the feminine figure. If the ballerina could fly, or tilt off balance without falling over, she would not need him, and yet, in a way, he completes her. It is striking how he appears, just in time to partner her (Reichlen) as the other ballerina disappears quietly into the wings. He carries her in low-gliding lifts about the stage, sustains her as she pulls into a wildly off-balance position on one toe, only to disappear again. The two women trace small circles through the corps, and the cavalier returns again, ready to serve. He’s there when you need him, gone when you don’t.

The company is bursting with interesting ballerinas right now. The final work of the evening, Balachine’s “Firebird,” was led by long, lean Maria Kowroski, who made a most exotic, mournful beast, magnifying the tragedy in her solitude; her wingspan is impressive, but it is the small touches, the way she touches her brow or flutters her fingers, that make the role sing. Between these two ballets, Sterling Hyltin took on the lead role in Jerome Robbins’ “In G Major,” made for the 1975 Ravel Festival. Set to a jazzy, stylish piano concerto, and sporting pastel beach-wear and a sunny, stylized seaside décor by Erte, it is an easy ballet to dismiss. Like the music to which it is set, the choreography has a distinctly jazz-age, Parisian feel. Robbins’ dancers could even be a simplified version of the characters in Le Train Bleu or Les Biches: young sophisticates romping at the seaside, their nonchalance embodied in flirty jogging, sauntering, and skipping steps. Hyltin flirted with the boys, swinging those feminine, sexy hips of hers; and her partner, Adrian Danchig-Waring, a stretchy, intense, slightly androgynous-looking dancer floated through the scene, sweeping all the girls off their feet. But the real magic happens in the pas de deux, set to Ravel’s adagio. Here, the composer took a pared-down approach: the orchestration is reduced to a minimum, and the simple piano melody, in ¾, has the feel of a faded, but cherished memory. The choreography is equally pared down, mostly built on walking steps: the man and the woman walk toward each other, and then away. The whole thing is like a summer romance, full of longing and just a touch of regret—summer romances are not built to last. There is nothing showy, nothing overwrought, just a few of those magical Robbins lifts that come out of nowhere. The lovers cannot stop gazing at each other; the erotic pull draws them together again and again, and yet they don’t yet have the intimacy of a real couple. It is the tender, tentative eroticism just before love. Hyltin’s femininity and girlish sophistication, combined with Danchig-Waring’s somewhat exotic—and androgynous– intensity took us to the heart of the affair.

A few days later (Feb. 2) came one of the highlights of the season: the return of Alexei Ratmansky’s “Russian Seasons.” He made this work for the company in 2006; it was last performed in 2008. This was his second ballet for an American troupe, and how lucky City Ballet is to have it in its rep. With an almost completely new cast, it still feels fresh and essential, vibrantly alive. This is a ballet one can return to again and again. Set to a song cycle by Leonid Desyatnikov (for mezzo-soprano) that follows the Russian Orthodox calendar, it has a profoundly Russian feel, but is also very contemporary in the facility with which Ratmansky deconstructs the source material. The songs, and choreography, hint at death, loneliness, aggression, even madness, but also at joy and friendship, the changing of the seasons and marriage. All of this is handled with a light touch, with little flourishes of humor and casual gestures and even a sprinkle of deconstructed balletic mime. As in many of his ballets, Ratmansky creates a world onstage in which the dancers come alive. Sara Mearns, in the role originally created for Sofiane Sylve (the girl in red), screamed with her body, reaching and kicking furiously, desperate to escape some terrible fate (the Russian lyrics speak of her being married off to an old man). Wendy Whelan, with her essential, wiry lyricism, seemed to glide across the stage, at first playful, but later defeated by life, gathering invisible flowers at her feet as she crouched, alone and shunned by the other couples; she mimed a trail of tears. Megan Fairchild, in green, played a simple soul–perhaps mad– haunted by three male spirits (Amar Ramasar, Jonathan Stafford, and Sean Suozzi) that she couldn’t see. She dove between them, or crawled under a bridge formed by Ramasar’s body; they skittered threateningly behind her and pushed her down to the ground when she tried to rise to her feet. Then they clapped their hands, as if to release her from her spell. Dark forces were afoot. In one of the most thrilling sections, various dancers do all sorts of things across the stage, in groups or singly; check their stockings, do a folk dance with their arms behind their back, jump in unison, until finally, without explanation, they come forward in ones and twos, bowing deeply in the Russian manner (hand to the heart) to the audience and departing, as if it were the end of the show. But no, it’s just a feint; the next section begins, with its little cuckoo-like figure in the strings. Four dancers, two men and two women, lean on each other droopily for support, as if exhausted from working in the fields. Then, out of nowhere, one of the girls pushes a boy down to the floor. Then another does the same. They look at each other in surprise.

Russian Seasons is the best new ballet the company has commissioned in years; it’s probably still one of Ratmansky’s finest. It will be performed again on Feb. 7, 15, 23, and 24. It would be a shame to miss it.

* Please feel free to leave a comment. If you would like to receive an alert when new pieces are posted on the Dance page, please drop me a line at dancinginthefastertimes@gmail.com. You can also check my updates on Twitter: @MarinaHarss

In which, well, I think this is what jumping the shark looks like
“Your lot buys it. My lot inherits it.” – Mary

For my introductory masterpost to this season, click here.

What’s more ridiculous in this episode? Richard manipulating Cora to invite Lavinia over to break up Matthew and Mary’s non-relationship relationship? Lord Grantham making passes at a willing maid? Or perhaps the burned guy with a completely implausible story about losing his memory for two years and then finding it again and playing on Edith’s heartstrings threatening to endanger Matthew’s life as heir to Downton?

After the emotionally wrenching episode from last week, this one was a colossal disappointment. It looks a lot like Fellowes and his team had no idea what they were going to do with the plot post-Matthew’s injury. Or they did, but they didn’t know how to make it stretch over three more episodes. Clearly Matthew and Mary’s relationship is heading somewhere juicy. They can’t keep having conversations in which they consider marrying each other, gazing at each other longingly, only to turn the conversation to marrying other people. The war is slowly drawing to a close and Downton will once again be a private house. But there’s still three more hours of television to squeeze out of this sucker! What are we going to do?

Enter the false heir-presumptive plot device.

It’s not so much that it was handled badly, by either the actors or the writing. It was more that I just didn’t care. Emotionally, Downton fans have a lot on our plates right now — Matthew is horribly injured, William is dead, and the happiness of many of our favorite characters is in jeopardy. So to drag in this stranger and ask us to care about him, too, is just outrageous. Furthermore, P. Gordon was never going to be a real character. He was dropped into the narrative too suddenly — not really in the style of Downton Abbey, which tends to signal broadly at upcoming plot events for weeks in advance. His story was implausible from the start. Perhaps it was more believable in the credulous early 1900s, when many types of things were possible to believe, but it’s hard for any modern viewer to swallow a cinematic double-amnesia story. And most of all, it seemed so very, very unlikely that our beloved Matthew Crawley would be ousted from his role as future heir for the sake of a bumbling plot device. So unfortunately, I didn’t believe it for a second.

The most affecting element of this turn of events was how it let Edith bloom. We’ve all sort of forgotten that Edith was in love with Patrick Crawley in the first episode, and a lot of her ire towards Mary was because Mary was going to wed the man Edith loved, even though Mary took no pleasure in it. Edith’s starved for affection, from her family, from the outside world, from men. P. Gordon may not have been the true heir, but it didn’t seem like his affection for her was entirely false, either. When the family learns that there was a Peter Gordon who was Patrick’s good friend in Canada, they surmise that this Peter had all the details he needed to pretend to be Patrick. Gordon clears out the next morning, but leaves a note for Edith. He didn’t have to.

Sigh. Poor Edith.

It was interesting contrasting Edith’s broken heart, which was largely ignored in light of her other character defects at the beginning of the series, to Mary’s broken heart, which we’ve seen every excruciating detail of. Mary and Matthew have been spending a lot of time together since he was wounded — perhaps too much time. Matthew is bitter and grief-stricken over his spinal injury, and is coping with it, understandably, by pushing people away. Lavinia he sent home, breaking off their engagement. Mary isn’t engaged to him, but she’s safely engaged to someone else, so he feels he can be around her. When Mary gently suggests that perhaps she doesn’t have to marry Richard, Matthew retorts that if he thought he stood in the way of her marrying another man and having a normal life, he’d stop seeing her at all.

When the issue of fake-Patrick is brought up at family dinner, Edith and Mary both come in incredibly emotional and polar opposites. Edith demands that the family take this guy seriously, while Mary is furious that they’re even considering this impostor. Matthew thinks it could be a blessing in disguise, after all, he can’t sire heirs or walk about the estate, and he’s not bitter about that, no not at all.

In fact, Mary is so upset that she loses her grip on what is typically her very controlled demeanor. We don’t often see Mary moved so much by emotion in public, and yet here she is, in tears because it’s so hard for Matthew to have to go through all of this. There are a lot of little affectionate exchanges between Mary and Matthew to pore over in this season, but this is one of my favorites, as much as I despise the amnesiac-Patrick storyline. Mary’s outburst is followed by the most natural endearment from Matthew’s lips: “My dear, don’t be too quick to decide.” It’s not just that it’s a surprisingly intimate exchange; it’s that Matthew knows that her anger is for his sake, and he’s too busy working his bitter, selfless shtick to actually be with her, but he’s always incredibly sensitive to her feelings. Fangirl sigh.

[Can we get Michelle Dockery an Emmy for her ability to let her voice break from emotion at precisely the right moment? Other characters are emotionally overwrought and impossible to believe: Mary Crawley is never one of those characters. Dan Stevens could also get an award for being really, really, really ridiculously good-looking.]

Despite Mary and Matthew’s overt rejection of a serious attachment, they look really good together. Good enough that Richard Carlisle gets antsy. “Should I be jealous?” he drawls, looking out on the lawn where Matthew and Mary are sitting. He’s up visiting Downton looking at houses in the area to buy for him and Mary to settle down in. They take a trip to Haxby Hall, recently vacated by good friends of the Crawleys, and agree to take it. It’s a huge, echoing, baroque masterpiece, and yet Richard and Mary seem completely immune to its beauty, having one of their cold, clipped, businesslike discussions about money, furnishings, and employment. Richard wants Carson to come to Haxby and run their household for them, hoping to surprise Lady Mary with the gestures. Carson is taken aback, having fully intended, it seems, to work at Downton until his dying day. But Mary approaches him too and presses him to consider it, saying that she’ll talk to her father about it. We all know Carson loves Mary, and so he will do it, but the tension over it is palpable. No one particularly likes Carlisle enough to make this an easy request or transition.

This plotline had an unsaid undertone to it: Mary is terrified of moving to Haxby with Richard. She knows already that she isn’t in love with him and never will be. She’s grasping at straws, hoping that creating a household in a huge dreary house will be easier with a beloved servant at her side.

It’s not surprising that Carlisle is so reviled by the family. Despite his somewhat coarse manners, it also seems like his openness about money offends them. He’s worked for his money himself, and he’s new to the power and privilege being extremely wealthy affords. This seems to make the rest of our landed gentry uncomfortable, a point underscored in Mary’s quip to him when they’re talking about furnishings. Mary has a different world view. She doesn’t buy, she inherits. But Carlisle’s attitude towards all things, including, it should be said, Mary, is acquisitive. Any problem can be solved by throwing money at it. And now that he’s spent considerable money keeping Mary out of the newspapers, he’s treating her like a possession. It’s disgusting, but yeah, it happens.

Meanwhile, Robert’s exchanging torrid glances with Jane because Cora’s… overworked? Unfeeling? I think we’re supposed to feel sorry for him and the many troubles upon his lordly shoulders, exacerbated by Matthew’s injury and the arrival of a claimant to his title. But the whole situation with the eager aid Jane manages to make Robert look incredibly pathetic. Here he is, petulant because he can’t keep up his dinner appointments and have his family comment on his new suits. We typically see the professional side of Lord Grantham — in which he manages the estate and paternalistically manages everyone’s affairs. It only struck me in this episode that we don’t really know what he does for fun. He has Isis, his dog; I imagine he hunts and stuff, whatever lords do. But really, it makes for a kind of pathetic existence. He doesn’t have interesting work, he just has a lot of money and an estate to maintain, and when that alters, he’s derailed. It’s not a fully articulated plotline, but it is interesting that Downton becoming a hospital would alter him so much. Lord Grantham is Downton. The house’s changing state is his alteration, as well.

There was an unsaid plot element here, too: Jane looks an awful lot like a younger Cora. I really, really, wish they’d done more with this. It would have served to characterize Robert and give us more on his relationship with Cora. As it is, Robert is coming off awfully pervy. Jane’s got to be the same age as his daughters.

An almost unsaid correlation was how similar Jane’s situation is to that of Ethel’s. Both are single mothers, both are crossing the line with their employers. It’s commented on every now and again by Ethel or Mrs. Hughes, who are still having no luck with getting Major Bryant to support their son. Major Bryant is dead, actually, so now it’s trying to get to his family. Good luck with that, ruined woman!

Sybil and Branson share an eyesexy moment, in which she asks him to wait a little bit longer, Daisy is holding on to a lot of shame about becoming a war widow just to make William happy, and Thomas is looking into the black market. Isobel begins a conversation about keeping Downton open for public use after the war, diving right back into the tension of privilege and aristocracy that was so prominent last week, but Violet manages to deflect her attention to refugees in Europe, and so Isobel gives up on Downton. Ugh. Okay. Isobel’s character seems to be whatever is convenient for everyone else to revile in any given episode, so whatever.

And Bates and Anna are supposed to get married soon! Except things keep happening with his wife and the divorce, or something. It’s unclear why we’re supposed to care about the legal twists and turns of Bates’ divorce proceedings. In a sort of dry historical way, it’s interesting, but mostly it’s an extremely tired, convoluted plot device that weighs down their story. I don’t even really care about them anymore, though I do want Anna to be happy. I don’t know why she puts up with Bates, though.

As Carson decides to leave Downton and stay with Lady Mary, Carlisle comes back — with the expected awful companion: Lavinia. It turns out he and Cora conspired to get Lavinia back into Matthew’s life. It’s hard to hate Lavinia herself, but the manipulation that went into bringing her to Downton is utterly reprehensible. Cora owns that she thinks Mary is too attached to Matthew, which makes Lord Grantham apoplectic. Mary confronts Richard about it, and Richard responds by bodily pushing her into the wall, warning her that he has the power to destroy her, and threatening to do so if he ever crosses her. And then he kisses her. Abusive fiancés are the worst, amirite?

Meanwhile, Lavinia sits Matthew down and earnestly tells him that she will take care of him no matter what he says. He doesn’t seem happy or relieved. He seems a man resigned to his fate, disabled and yoked to a woman who will always be a nursemaid.

In the midst of all of this inconclusive character development comes a happy announcement: the war is over! The house assembles in the great hall to mark the cease-fire, which is 11am on November 11^th. Touching and fitting. And as he’s being wheeled out, Matthew cries out. Bates inquires. Matthew demurs, but the look on his face suggests that he’s felt something he didn’t expect to feel. And I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but from the look on his face, and his desire to not discuss it, it seems like well yeah maybe he was feeling an erection. SO HE CAN HAVE CHILDREN?! AHHH??!

THIS SHOW IS TURNING MY BRAIN INTO MUSH.

And lastly, in case you hadn’t experienced enough drama: Bates has a telegram from London. His wife, who he has been talking smack about for weeks, and who he desperately needs to leave his life, has done him the favor of dying suddenly — perhaps a little too conveniently.

(Ugh.)

More Downtown Abbey recaps:

(Season 2, Episode 4): “Dead and Wounded”

(Season 2, Episode 3): “Missing in Action”

Meanwhile, they haven’t exactly been keeping the Smash pilot under wraps. It has been around for weeks before its debut on Monday, February 6, starting on iTunes and ending on Youtube.

Tim Carvell (@timcarvell): I wouldn’t be surprised at this point if NBC has sent people to go door-to-door among the Amish, telling them about “SMASH”.

But not everybody’s talking:
Jonathan Mandell (@NewYorkTheater): Is your character Ellis Tancharoen going to sing in Smash?
Jaime Cepero (@JaimeCepero): You’ll have to stay tuned….
Jonathan Mandell: Ok, different question: Smash doesn’t even begin until Monday.Has your life changed since you were cast in it? If so, how so?
Jaime Cepero: Hmm… From waiting tables to playing patty cake with Anjelica Houston? I think that about sums it up!
Will Smash change New York theater the way it’s already changed Jaime Cepero’s life?
Well, no.
But it will be interesting to see if it becomes popular, and, maybe, down the road, creates some new theatergoers.
“It used to be ‘theater’ was a dirty word on TV. It’s like you couldn’t do politics on TV until ‘West Wing,” said Neil Meron, one of Smash’s producers. On the other hand: “It was very important to us that half of the piece was authentic to American musical theater, and that the rest be truly universal for an audience…We want an audience that says ‘I’m not really interested in Broadway.’”
Bobby Rivers (@BobbyRiversTV): So they want the Super Bowl audience?

Welcome to the 90th edition of The Week in New York Theater Tweets.

Monday, January 30, 2012
Off-Broadway Week starts tonight, 2-for-1 tickets, now through Feb 12th, to 39 shows.

Jessie Mueller’s staying in town! Star of On A Clear Day You Can See Forever (now closed) is in “Broadway Musicals of 1946″ at Town Hall February 13.

2011 American Theater Hall of Fame induction tonight. Inductees honored this year:
Tyne Daly,actor; Woodie King Jr., producer; Elliot Martin, producer; Ann Roth, costume designer; Paul Sills (posthumously), director; Daniel Sullivan, director; Ben Vereen, actor; George White, producer

“Relax…We’re not killing it. We’re just doing our version”~ David Alan Grier to critics of Porgy and Bess

My review of The Flea Theater’s “These Seven Sicknesses”
“Welcome to blood, sex, sorrow and a good party,” a young man said cheerfully, as he handed out a drink during the Flea Theater’s adaptation of all seven surviving tragedies by Sophocles, a marathon evening that shouldn’t work, but does, wonderfully.
Full review
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Reopening tonight: Mike Daisey’s anti-Apple monologue, “The Agony and The Ecstasy of Steve Jobs” at the Public Theater
Theater Building Boom
Opening tonight: Signature Theater’s brand new complex, the Pershing Square Signature Theater Center, designed by Frank Gehry and costing $66 million.
A $57 million renovation of New York City Center. A $41 million theater being built on the roof of the Vivian Beaumont Theater at Lincoln Center Theater, the experimental LCT3, will debut in June with a new played entitled “Slowgirl.”
Then there is the $48-million theater set to be completed in 2013 for the Theatre for a New Audience This theater’s chairman of the board of directors, Theodore C. Rogers, may be explaining why so much building is going up: “We realized we needed a permanent home if we were ever going to be a theater of consequence and of meaning.”

Pun Bandhu, a Broadway producer (“Spring Awakening”) who is making his Broadway debut as an actor in “Wit,” is one of the organizers of a panel discussion February 13 by Aapac, the Asian American Performers Action Coalition, about the “shocking lack of roles for Asians”

At age 4, she was Olivia on Bill Cosby Show. Now 26, Raven-Symoné is reportedly set to take over lead of Sister Act in March.

Flops Revisited
Carrie begins previews tonight – and it’s sold out. There is a cancellation line.
Is this a season of revived flops? Carrie. Merrily We Roll Along. Any others?
Kathryn Lurie (@kathrynlurie): On a Clear Day?
Kevin Daly (@kevinddaly): Encores is also doing “PIpe Dream!”
Win two tickets to revival of “Carrie” by answering this question here only: What “flop” would you like to see revived, and why?

Betty Buckley (@BettyBuckley): Hope I get to see “Carrie” when I’m in NYC this month! : )
Jonathan Mandell: How do you look back at the show?
Betty Buckley: Don’t really look back too much. It was a blast when we did it. Linzi Hateley & I did some kickass work with a great piece!
The show as a whole was directorally inconsistent & editing needed to happen. But it was gutsy, brave and ahead of its time.

Betty Buckley vs. Randy Jackson of American Idol
Betty Buckley: OK, I just have to say this: I am sick & tired of Randy Jackson bashing what they think is Broadway singing! It’s soo ludicrous! I have yet to see or hear anyone sound remotely like a theater singer on Idol!! And, further, theatrical singing encompasses every kind of sound, voice & style. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!! And by these constant disses he is telling American kids that Broadway is some kind of inferior art form. Next to jazz, Broadway is the only indigenous American art form and with respect, “Dog”, your opinion is whack and uninformed!…I literally cannot comprehend the producers allowing such mendacity in his remarks!
One more thing: Broadway is a place, not a style. At one time, in early days of classic Broadway, Rodgers, Hammerstein, Hart, Lerner & Loew,Gershwin, Tin Pan Alley & company one could say there was a style, a consistency in construct. But not any more. All kinds of composers and singers and styles on Broadway. And that’s been true since the 60′s.
Nigel Lythgoe: (@Dizzyfeet, American Idol producer): Thank you. I will certainly speak with Randy. I had the pleasure of seeing your outstanding performances in “Cats” and “Pippin”
Audra McDonald (@AudraEqualityMc): Betty Buckley, I just read your rant against Randy Jackson’s constant Broadway-bashing. Not sure how to tweet you a standing ovation but know that I am.
Howard Sherman (@HESherman): The irony is that while American Idol disses Broadway, so many of their final contestants aspire to work there…and do.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012

She’s a Marilyn wannabe opposite Katharine McPhee in Smash, but Wicked veteran Megan Hilty also evokes Carol Channing. She will be starring as Lorelei in the Encores! concert production of “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”

Clash of egos between playwright Bruce Norris and producer Scott Rudin jeopardizes the Broadway run of Clybourne Park. Norris, who is both a writer and an actor, auditioned for a part in Rudin’s HBO TV series based on Jonathan Franzen’s “The Corrections.” Once he was accepted for the role, he turned it down. Furious, Rudin withdrew as lead producer of Norris’s Pulitzer-winning play.

Content-free 30-second commercial for William Shatner’s one-man Broadway show

Why I Hate Theater by Michael Musto: “Because crap automatically gets a standing ovation…Interactive theater pieces where you have to keep deciding which actors to follow always have me..wondering where everybody went’ plus dozens more

Thursday, February 2, 2012
NEW 10-minute plays from Sondheim, Albee, Kushner, etc for Shinsai on March 11 (earthquake anniversary)

Robert Zemeckis, director of “Back to the Future” films, is in “early talks” to turn them into a Bway musical, reports Deadline NY
Daniel Bourque (@Danfrmbourque) Proving what we all know: that there is *NO* movie which is safe from musicalization. What. An. Awful. Idea.

The Oak Room will not reopen when the Algonquin does. A cabaret era has ended after 32-year run.

Friday, February 3, 2012
Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire with Blair Underwood, will have a limited run April 3-July 22 at Broadhurst. Opens April 22.

Horton Foote, who died at 92 the year before the amazing Orphans Home Cycle, will have three plays at Primary Stages July 24-Sept. 15
Mary Cahalane (@mcahalane): He was such a sweet, courtly gentleman!
Norman Buckley (@norbuck): One of the best playwrights ever!

Happy 56th Birthday, Nathan Lane, vet of 18 Broadway shows: Guys & Dolls,The Producers, Love Valour Compassion, Waiting for Godot

Rachel’s Dads, Jeff Goldblum and Brian Stokes Mitchell.

At its best, Glee is better than Smash, says Time’s James Poniwozik, who sees the new TV series as closer to Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip than West Wing. (This is largely a dissenting view.)

JuJamcyn Theater president Jordan Roth guarantees that Clybourne Park will open at the Walter Kerr as planned, by taking over as lead producer. (He doesn’t spell out where the money will come from.)
One feud is not enough: At the end of his column on the Scott Rudin-Bruce Norris feud and its resolution, Michael Riedel of the Post decides to start a feud with “my friend” Patrick Healy of the Times.
Jonathan Mandell: I liked Clybourne Park – intelligent,clever,amusing. I don’t see it being a big Broadway hit. It’s like Next Fall
Peter Marks (@petermarksdrama): I don’t even know what that means anymore, a big Broadway hit. I just don’t want to see it embarrassed.
Jonathan Mandell: I mean I don’t see a lot of people paying $100+ to see it. I hope I’m proven wrong.
Peter Marks: I don’t know how to forecast what people will pay; not my area of expertise.
Daniel Bourque: I’m always surprised to hear a straight play is getting a Broadway run, more so without stars. It’s sad, but we are at the point where a Broadway run is mostly for prestige and promotion.

Saturday, February 4, 2012
Why so much focus on helping new *young* playwrights,asks UK writer Laura Barnett.New older have more to say

Ben Gazzara, the actor who created role of Brick in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and went on to John Cassavetes films, has died at age 81

Jonathan Larson was born on this day in 1960, and died on January 25, 1996, the day before the opening of his show, Rent.

The week in New York Theater Tweets is a selection and enhancement of Jonathan Mandell’s Twitter feed, and is posted usually on Mondays.
For up-to-the-minute theater news, views and reviews, follow Jonathan Mandell on his Twitter feed at @NewYorkTheater
Broadway World has designated @NewYorkTheater as one of the top theater Twitter feeds: “Talk about a tweeter who knows his Broadway stuff! From news to conversation-starters to commentary, he’s got it all.”

New York Theater Facebook page

Recaps coming to TFT Monday!

Have you heard how desperately NBC needs a hit?

This season has been particularly hard for the peacock network — its sitcoms are cult favorites, but fan fervor hasn’t translated into impressive ratings. Smash, debuting February 6, might be NBC’s last hope. Check out Todd VanDerWerff’s analysis of NBC’s performance in the February sweeps here. And for a brutal analysis exactly what a Smash flop could do to the network, check out Josef Adalian’s article in Vulture.

Basically: NBC needs Smash to do well. Hopefully, very well. And as a result, promos for this show have been flying left and right. It’s getting promoted heavily during that big football game on Sunday and will premiere following NBC’s strongest show, The Voice, on “Super Monday.” If you have On Demand, you may have noticed that NBC’s already put the pilot in your cable box, along with a whole slew of featurettes about the characters. It’s on buses. It’s on subway posters. It’s every other promo on NBC — live and on-demand. They’re desperate to make this work, and considering they’re currently neck-in-neck with Univision, they’ve got every right to be. Make Smash a smash. The meta-messaging here is overt. (And check out Jesse Green’s article in NYMag on the making of Smash for more on the meta-textuality of it all.)

So what the hell is this show?

Well for one thing… it’s really good.

I watch a lot of television — a lot of television — but I’ve rarely been so captivated by a pilot. Now I admit, I am taken in by shiny things and pretty colors, and I have seen every episode of Glee to date, so I am this show’s target audience. But Smash is well-executed. Theresa Rebeck, the show’s creator and writer, manages to blend lightness and gravity in a fast-paced pilot with talented actors and nuanced performances. I say lightness because yeah, it’s a show about a musical about Marilyn Monroe, and yeah, it’s literally a story about young people following their dreams. But this is not a Glee after-school special. Those young starry-eyed dreamers are balanced out with conniving directors and politicking producers. High production values and fantastic performances carry the rest.

The ensemble cast gives you a lot of options for your favorite character. It could be American Idol runner-up Katharine McPhee, playing Midwestern newcomer Karen Cartwright, new to the Broadway game. It could be voluptuous Ivy Lynn, played by Megan Hilty, who’s earned her stripes in ensemble roles and now wants a shot at the big time. It could be the co-dependent writer/composer duo Julia and Tom, played by Debra Messing and Christian Borle, who are kind of bitchy theater divas, but kind of fun precisely for that reason. It could be BAMF Eileen, phoned in by Angelica Huston, Broadway producer who takes no prisoners and surrenders no quarter. It might even be Derek Willis, lecherous directing genius, not above being seduced to cast his stars, played by one of my favorite British actors, Jack Davenport. The diversity of characters and the depth of talent are both very good indicators of the show’s success; apparently several celebrity guest stars are also lined up in the wings.

There are definitely moments where Smash becomes absolutely too cheesy. As much as I like the idea of a Midwestern wannabe starlet trying to succeed with honesty and integrity, breaking out into Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” just does not work for me — and I cannot imagine hardened Broadway casting directors being affected by it, either. The pilot sets up a lot of drama that could be painfully hamfisted or nuanced when it shakes down — there’s no way to tell. There is a point of high tension in the pilot that I think goes over well because Jack Davenport is amazing. But I am not so sure about Katharine McPhee’s ability to gracefully balance the show’s corniness with its humanity, either with her singing or with her acting abilities. While everyone else in the cast sacrifices likability for realism, McPhee comes off as almost nauseatingly earnest and ethical. Yeah, that might just be my East Coast cynicism coming through. Because a likeable protagonist (unlike Glee’s strident Rachel Berry) might be what Smash needs to appeal to broad audiences.

Bottom line: It’s a series split between highbrow dramatic nuance and lowbrow spectacle. That could be a showstopping balancing act or a split-personality nightmare. Tune in Mondays to find out.

TMZ reports that Joe Francis, the human herpes sore responsible for creating the infamous ‘Girls Gone Wild’ empire, has sent Madonna a cease and desist letter, threatening to sue if she performs the song “Girls Gone Wild” from her upcoming album during her Super Bowl performance.

In the letter, also addressed to NBC and the NFL, Francis’ lawyer attacks all parties for attempting to cash in on a “free ride on the valuable consumer goodwill and brand recognition” of Francis’ trademark. Let’s pause here to reflect on the ridiculousness of this phrasing. “Valuable consumer goodwill and brand recognition” makes it sound like Francis is a tireless philanthropist whose franchise has been evoked to garner public favor, rather than a sleazebag who built an empire on exploiting the diminished value judgements of drunk college girls.

At any rate, Francis is willing to cut Madonna a deal provided she cut an immediate licensing agreement for “Girls Gone Wild,” account for the number of times she has already used the trademark, and not perform the song at the Super Bowl. Thankfully, Francis did not request a drunken Madonna to remove her top as part of the deal. (I was really worried for a second there.)

Francis’ lawyer reportedly demanded a response by 5 PM Pacific time today, so we’ll see how this goes.

Image: New York Daily News

Two weeks ago (NBC are apparently alternating episodes of Parks and Recreation and The Office with their massive backlog of 30 Rock episodes) someone commented that it seemed like I wanted to hate this show. This couldn’t be further from the truth. The Office used to be one of my favourite shows: it was consistently funny, often quite emotional and had a great cast of characters. In recent years its formula has grown tired (did Parks and Recreation growing in quality have something to do with this?) and I expected the whole “Steve Carrel is leaving so we’re going to replace Michael Scott with a new manager” thing to bring some life back into the show.

And, the general consensus is, it didn’t. We spent a year wondering who the new manager was going to be and watched numerous episodes with stars like Will Ferrell and Will Arnett making appearances. James Spader was picked, only he ended up taking over the entirety of Dunder-Mifflin, and Andy became the new manager. Unfortunately, the writers didn’t really take the opportunity to capitalize on this change and continued with the same old, boring stories that The Office could have done at any point in the last few years. No, I don’t want to hate this show, random commenter (I believe I even gave the episode before a positive review); I just want it to be as good as it used to be… or at least better than it is now.

“Jury Duty” begins with Andy taking over the warehouse just to dance and make a mess in an attempt to relieve stress. After watching this scene, I realized this was going to be yet another bland and/or stupid episode of The Office. I was wrong. “Jury Duty” turned out to be a fun and surprisingly sweet episode of a show I supposedly hate.

Jim returns from work after a week of jury duty. The thing is… he was only in court for half a day. The rest of the week he spent at home with Pam and his two children. After everyone in the office tells him how much harder they had to work to make up for his absence, Jim feels guilty for his deception and Dwight begins to suspect that he was lying. Jim eventually comes clean and brings in Pam and his kids to make it up to everyone with drawings (Phyllis would have preferred cookies). The office realizes that maybe Jim didn’t have a week of vacation when his kids start crying and Pam tries to get them out of the office. They let Jim go home to be with them, which I thought was one of the best moments this show has done in a while.

While Dwight was investigating Jim’s story, Oscar was doing some detective work of his own. Angela has given birth a month early and Oscar, Kevin, Erin and Gabe have gone to the hospital to see it. They soon realize that Angela hasn’t given birth to a preterm birth because the baby is a healthy, nine-month old giant. Oscar confronts Angela about this fact and she reveals that she had sex with her probably-gay senator husband a month before they were actually married. But it is Dwight who uncovers the real truth, after coming to the hospital in search of Gabe to talk about firing Jim: Dwight believes the child is his, as he and Angela also had relations a month before she was married and the baby looks like a Schrute (and he hasn’t taught Mose sex). Dwight forgets about wanting Jim fired. He can understand why Jim wanted to be with his family… after all, they’re both fathers now.

It will be interesting to see if the writers continue to develop this idea. Dwight as a father (and bonding with Jim) has a lot of potential and I hope they don’t forget about it like almost every other development this season.

Before I finish, I just wanted to talk about one more thing. Last week it was announced that NBC were planning a Dwight spinoff (and supposedly that episode where he went to Robert California for an interview was a hint at things to come). Is a Dwight spinoff a good idea? What would The Office even be like without one of its best characters? Will it even go ahead? I don’t know… and I don’t think I want to find out. Let’s concentrate on making The Office a good show again before making an unnecessary spinoff. “Jury Duty” was a strong episode. Let’s keep it up.

And now, with the success of Wim Wenders’ “Pina,” 3D has entered into the discussion. Everyone talks about how unsatisfying it is to watch dance on film, and to a certain extent I agree.  In performances recorded on sound stages, the dancers tend to look cramped, and the camera always seems to be either too close or too far. You don’t really feel the weight and amplitude of the movement on a screen; the music seems disconnected from the steps, as if it came from a recording rather than an orchestra playing in the same space (as it often does). But still, it’s better than nothing.

In fact, I’ve rather enjoyed the recent live HD screenings from various theatres around the world, most notably the Bolshoi, which is actively pushing the medium, in a kind of drive for world ballet domination (just kidding, sort of). The technology for live broadcasting has improved a great deal, and it is a thrill to peek into these vast, glittering theatres, and to form an impression of national and company styles, and of the various abilities and attributes of dancers we wouldn’t otherwise get to see. The images onscreen are crisp, the dimensions larger-than-life; the multiple cameras offer several points of view (though the editing also sometimes misses crucial passages), as if one were sitting in both the orchestra seats and the balcony at once. You get to see faces and feet, but also shifting, beautiful, geometric floor patterns. Would that New York City Ballet, which now has a sophisticated media suite thanks to the State Theatre’s David Koch-financed renovation, would devote energy and money to broadcasting its fine dancers and rich repertoire. (There are surely union issues to be resolved, but it would be worth it.) This past fall, Live at Lincoln Center broadcast “The Nutcracker” over PBS’s network of stations, but used its own movable media facilities, stationed in a trailer parked outside of the theatre. Let’s hope the company can pick up where they left off.

Of course, there have also been many dance films over the years, both fictional and documentary: “The Red Shoes,” “The Turning Point,” “The Children of Theatre Street” (a favorite), and the entire oeuvre of Fred Astaire. Two years ago, there was the ghastly and gory “Black Swan,” and in 2011, the remake of “Footlose” and Wim Wender’s “Pina,” a tribute to the late Pina Bausch, which I only got around to seeing quite recently. Wenders’ innovation is the use of 3D, which is meant to enhance our experience of observing the dance excerpts, many of which are filmed en plein air, in the streets of Wuppertal. 3D supposedly brings us into the space with the dancers, makes the visual aspect more intense, awakens the senses, and corrects some of the flatness one usually experiences when seeing dance on film. I’ll say that I’m not convinced, at least not yet. As in the past, I found the 3D “experience” disconcerting; everything looks weightless, transparent, and filmy, as if we were looking at multiple translucent images superimposed over each other rather than a single, unified picture. The likeness is blurry with the glasses, and also without the glasses. The spectacles at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center at Lincoln Center were sturdier than most, and fit well. But still, I found myself removing them repeatedly, to give my eyes a rest.  Not the ideal way to lose oneself in a movie.

That said, some images had a particularly visceral effect, probably because of the technology: In one, a small theatre model suddenly came to life, and we were in the midst of a performance of “Café Müller” (a lodestone work to which the film returns again and again). In another, the film-maker’s (and thus our) eye wandered among the dancers on a dirt-strewn stage during Bausch’s angst-ridden “Rite of Spring.” We were incredibly close to the performers, closer than we would ever be in a theatre, and could see every grain of dirt as it clung to the dancers’ sweat, and the performers’ unbelievable commitment. For this is what comes through most powerfully in the film—both in the voiceover interviews and in the performances themselves: the almost religious, completely unrestrained commitment of Bausch’s company to her vision, and to her. It is a powerful testament to her almost guru-like influence that one of the dancers in the current company is the daughter of two former company-members. As she says, “I have never known a world without Pina.” These people, all of them interesting, mature, complex, and emotionally compelling, are utterly devoted to her and to her dances. There is no faking. She drew them out as people and as artists, and they have given her everything.

That said, this evocation of the dancers’ personas and devotion, does not really make the most powerful case for the choreography itself. Wenders seems intent on going beyond Bausch’s dances to reveal the emotional content, as if the choreography were not enough. Bausch of course played into this notion of the dance as conduit to feeling with such pronouncements as “I don’t care how my dancers move, but what moves them.” But it is, paradoxically, an underestimation of her own work as a choreographer/woman of the theatre and of the company-members as dancers and artists. What makes a Bausch’s work powerful is not simply individual moments of emotional exposure, but the construction of the works, the voyage, the story she tells over the course of an evening through movement and words and music and set designs, and how the dancers tell it with their bodies. What the film shows, on the other hand, are isolated, often repeated fragments from a small set of works (“Vollmond,” “Café Müller,” “Kontakthof,” “Rite of Spring”) which give a skewed impression of her dances over the years. It all looks the same: angst, angst, angst, and more angst. Coy, forced little smiles that say “yes, we know that you know that we know” and “isn’t this clever”? Women in gauzy dresses and heels, men in trousers and button-down shirts. Falling, falling, and more falling. Men and women grappling, and then letting go, and grappling some more. All of this is certainly part of the Bausch esthetic, but the experience of a full evening of Bausch is, at its best, more than a sum of these parts.

Bringing these solos and duets outside of the theatre, like the monorail in Wuppertal or a park or a traffic intersection, doesn’t help either. It underlines the essential theatricality—the underlying fakeness—of the situations they depict. What can feel hyper-real onstage, seems artificial and forced in the city, where people are living real, sometimes dramatic experiences every minute of every day. And why do the travelers in the monorail not react when they see a lithe, wild-haired dancer, garbed in evening wear, thrashing in one of Bausch’s sorrowful solos? They barely look up from their books. The artifice is striking, as it is in the voice-over testimonials by her dancers, touching as they are. They stare significantly into the camera while their voices speak of their love for her, of the ways in which she saved them, made them into who they are. They are touchingly sincere, but their quasi-religious devotion is so strong that it blocks real insight into Bausch’s work as a choreographer. How did she make the dances? What techniques did she use to draw out these visceral performances? Is it really possible that there was never any conflict in the studio? As it is, one would think these works magically made themselves. Where are the nuts and bolts?

We get more nuts and bolts in the new documentary about the Joffrey Ballet: “Joffrey: Mavericks of American Dance,” directed by Bob Hercules, who made the recent “Bill T. Jones: A Good Man” for the “American Masters” series on PBS. It was shown recently at the “Dance on Camera” festival at Lincoln Center, now in its fortieth year.  It’s an illuminating film about a choreographer and company-director we don’t hear about enough. Once New York’s third company, the Joffrey decamped for Chicago (after a financial meltdown) in 1995. The tale of Robert Joffrey, this raid balletomane who brought Nijinsky’s “Rite of Spring,” Massine’s “Parade,” and Kurt Jooss’s “The Green Table” back to life through sheer determination and love, is important and should be told. The footage in the film shows a company that is excitingly diverse, with a variety of body types and a warm, engaging manner, in contrast to the high stylization of New York City Ballet. What we see of Joffrey’s own ballets, like “Astarte” and “Gamelan,” shows a choreographer more interested in spectacle and engagement with his times than with real innovation or form. But the liveliness and eclecticism of the company speaks to a greater connection to the culture at large than at either ABT or NYCB. And some of the dancers, especially Gary Chryst—who played the Chinese Conjurer in “Parade” and the Profiteer in “The Green Table”– come across as electric, utterly unique performers. It is difficult to imagine them in any other company.

I had only two complaints about the film: first, a certain over-emphasis on the “American-ness” of Joffrey and the too-frequent references to Balanchine in negative terms, as “beholden” to European forms or “measured” (in contrast to Joffrey and Arpino’s dynamism) in his approach. I would argue that “measured” is not the first word that comes to mind when thinking of Balanchine, and that his dialogue with European ballet was the very substance of his innovation. In any case, such repeated references revealed a chip on the shoulder that was diminishing to Joffrey’s legacy rather than celebratory or positive. Joffrey and Arpino’s achievements should speak for themselves. Secondly, the talking heads in the film were too few; it would have been interesting to hear a wider range of points of view. But much supporting material is available on a connected website, joffreymovie.com, which is well worth perusing.

Another film in the festival, “Balanchine in Paris,” by the French filmmaker Dominique Delouche, was an intimate portrait of particular slice of the Balanchine universe, his work with French ballerinas. Both Ghislaine Thesmar and Violette Verdy are interviewed, and also shown both in archival footage (sublime) and in recent coaching sessions with current members of the Paris Opéra Ballet. There is also footage of Alicia Markova, one of the “baby ballerinas” of Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, teaching the nuances of the role of the nightingale in Balanchine’s “Chant du Rossignol” to a young dancer (Myriam Ould-Braham) at the Opéra. Markova’s understanding of the role is profound, and legible in the examples she shows to her pupil, at the venerable age of ninety.  (You can see this on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16TB_PkzKC4 ). It is also evident how difficult it is to break through habits of contemporary technique: incredibly high extensions, perfect positions, a tendency to rely on muscle or esthetics rather than interpretation. In the work of all three former ballerinas, the detail, intelligence, and musicality of their imaginations shines through. Violette Verdy, in particular, is able to articulate the most subtle detail, as when she distinguishes between two swoons in a pas de deux from “Liebeslieder Waltzer”: in the first one, she tells the ballerina that the woman “fait semblant d’être soumise” (pretends to be submissive), while in the second, “je crois que c’est du vrai” (I think it’s for real). In explaining a passage from “Sonatine,” with music by Ravel, she tells the ballerina that a certain, playful moment, is “très Ginger et Fred.” It changes the quality of the movement completely, makes it more free, less effete. Then we see a short clip of Verdy in “Sonatine”—she is all charm, all music, all warmth.  By contrast, the present-day ballerinas come across as exquisite, but cold. Verdy’s constant refrain is, “un peu plus riche, plus généreux.” Words to live by.

* Please feel free to leave a comment. If you would like to receive an alert when new pieces are posted on the Dance page, please drop me a line at dancinginthefastertimes@gmail.com. You can also check my updates on Twitter: @MarinaHarss