`Chicago' Stars Bebe Neuwirth -- The New Broadway And All That Jazz

NEW YORK - By all external evidence, Broadway should be booming.

Head into the Manhattan theater district, and you'll find 32 theaters lit up, and the narrow streets clogged with young and old patrons clutching their $75 orchestra-seat tickets.

Attendance has reached 9 million for the 1996-'97 season (which ended officially on May 1), up from last year's ballyhooed 8 million.

And the much-hyped makeover of the formerly tawdry 42nd Street is another visible sign of affluence. The spiffy restorations of the long-derelict Victory Theatre and the Disney-bankrolled New Amsterdam Theatre are now complete; Garth Drabinsky's deluxe new Ford Center for the Performing Arts should be show-ready soon. Sure, some petty hustlers still strut on Forty-Deuce, but they're far outnumbered by tourists seeking a nosh at the proliferation of plastic '50s-theme diners.

Emboldened by the upbeat mood and lively commerce, and by the ongoing success of two smashes from last season ("Rent" and "Bring in 'Da Noise, Bring in 'Da Funk"), producers have bankrolled six new musicals to the tune of $40 million, and ponied up for several splashy musical revivals, also.

But Broadway's bullishness is part illusion: Business may be up, but not enough to prevent a tide of red ink from ripping through a number of expensive, likely-to-fail shows.

All the entertainment conglomerate cash that's fueling this spring boom comes with some nasty Hollywood-style problems attached. Such as: A blockbuster mentality that values bloated glitz over organic artistry. Reliance on "bankable" old-guard creators to craft new shows, instead of giving risk-taking, forward-thinking younger talent a break. And doggedly recycling tired old formulas, when fresh gambits (a la "Rent" and "Noise/Funk") are urgently needed.

To varying degrees, most of the season's new shows (and revivals) are plagued by this syndrome, plus creeping concept-itis and a tragic waste of superior performing talent.

One spring musical ("Play On!") has already closed; another ("Jekyll and Hyde") may triumph over poor reviews, thanks to its well-known pop score. But the rest are reportedly not making their weekly expenses, and may beholding on despite losses until the Tony Awards are handed out June 1, in the hope that winning a few medallions will boost business.

From my viewpoint, only two of the new musical productions on Broadway actually deserve to live long and prosper. One is the Cy Coleman show "The Life," which throbs with jazzy vitality despite its cliched book and premise. The other standout is a thrilling, less-is-more version of Bob Fosse's 1975 hit, "Chicago," rechoreographed by Seattle native Ann Reinking, who also co-stars with the amazing Bebe Neuwirth. (Note: the touring edition comes to the Paramount Theatre next year, with a different cast.)

Here's the scoop on the other new musicals of 1996-'97:

"The Life." Lay the threads and attitude of the '70s blaxploitation film classic "Superfly" on the vivacious, hip-swinging prostitutes of the musical "Sweet Charity," and the result is something like "The Life" - a show so unapologetically vulgar and jazzy, you gotta love it.

It took composer Cy Coleman (who also scored "Sweet Charity") more than a decade to pull together this musical melodrama about a crew of unrepentant 42nd Street working gals, pre-Disney Era. Aided by lyricist Ira Gasman, co-writer David Newman, director Michael Blakemore and an outstanding multi-racial and multi-shaped cast, "The Life" finally arrived with moxie intact. And next to its anemic Broadway neighbors, this rock-and-soul blowout exudes trashy vitality.

The story line - a romantic triangle among a self-possessed prostitute (Pamela Isaacs), her leech of a lover (Kevin Ramsey) and a not-so-innocent new girl on the block (Bellamy Young) - is rife with corny nonsense.

Yet it hangs tough and funny until fizzling into moralistic bathos at the end. And there's lots of room for snappy production numbers (choreographed in basic jazz by Joey McKneely) and bluesy ballads.

A standout is the defiant anthem, "It's My Body," sung by a Fellini-esque lineup of skinny and voluptuous streetwalkers, garbed in the platform shoes, polyester mini-skirts, and Day-Glo hot pants that make Martin Pakledinaz's costuming such a guilty pleasure.

A bona fide showstopper, Lillias White plays a seasoned but tired hooker who rubs her aching feet and sings of "The Oldest Profession" with awesome gospel fervor. The strapping baritone Chuck Cooper, as one scary pimp, croons "Don't Take Much" like a Broadway Barry White, and "Star Search" champ Sam Harris is a most ebullient song-and-dance weasel as the Iago-esque narrator.

Can "The Life" survive the summer? Or will its R-rated content and tawdry panache, its absence of techno-scenic effects, doom it? Whatever happens, look for the original cast album - it'll be a honey.

"Chicago." From the moment the fabulous Bebe Neuwirth strides out in black tights and teensy bodysuit, flashes a scarlet-lipped smirk and launches into a hissing rendition of "All That Jazz," this revival justifies all the accolades bestowed on it.

Staged, choreographed and co-written by the inimitable Bob Fosse 20 years ago, this dark, mock-Brechtian "vaudeville" about a pair of publicity-hungry showgirls in the slammer for knocking off their lovers still feels vibrantly au courant.

And director Walter Bobbie's production, a stark but atmospheric affair with an onstage band and a few black chairs for scenery, proves it's not just those pricey hydraulics that keep a Broadway audience attentive.

An irresistible score spiked with brass flourishes and smart lyrics, a pack of sleek dancers steeped in the sophisticated, insinuating vernacular of Reinking's sharp-angled, Fosse-inspired dances, and a couple of gal stars who know 50 ways to slink (the original starred Chita Rivera and Gwen Verdon, expert slinkers both) will do it every time.

"Chicago," even more than "The Life," is entertainment for grown-ups. A sly, dead-pan sendup of America's jones for murder and celebrity, mega-star lawyers (James Naughton suavely embodies the one here) and sexy women who play dumb but act smart, the show works just as well in the Age of Clinton as it did in the Wake of Watergate.

"Titanic." So sedate and restrained you'd hardly know it covers an iceberg crash and the death of more than 1,000 people, this enervated $10 million rehash of the famous 1912 shipping disaster does contain some lovely music by Maury Yeston ("Nine") and admirable performances by Brian d'Arcy James, Martin Moran, Jennifer Piech and other gifted newcomers.

And Stewart Laing's scenic design deals with the challenge of re-creating a huge cruise ship onstage inventively, using geometric shipscapes and hydraulic tilts to suggest the Titanic's multiple levels and myriad regions.

But why, oh why, do a stage musical about a ragingly cinematic event? (Even the upcoming "Titanic" film is in trouble and overbudget.)

Old Broadway pro Peter Stone's book parcels out the historical drama to too many minor characters. And under the listless direction of Richard Jones, the famous sinking occurs with a barely audible whimper, not a bang. Dispensing with the Big Event altogether, and conceiving the show as an oratorio, would have been less disappointing - and much cheaper.

There is, however, a bright side here: if "Titanic"-the-musical were a huge hit (it isn't), Broadway might be awash in copycat disaster musicals for years. Close call.

"Steel Pier." Sitting through this bland, dreamy, derivative musical romance, set within a Depression-era dance marathon in Atlantic City, it's hard to believe the authors are the same John Kander and Frank Ebb who created the bracing scores for "Chicago" and "Cabaret."

Here, in tandem with writer David Thompson and director Scott Ellis, they've concocted the Broadway equivalent of salt-water taffy: too sweet, too sticky and made with artificial colors and flavors.

A cross between "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?" and "Heaven Can Wait," with a big dollop of "Carousel" thrown in, "Steel Pier" tries to animate the story of a veteran dancer (the highly engaging Karen Ziemba). Secretly wed to the marathon's diabolical emcee (Gregory Harrison), she's not immune to the charms of a doting stunt pilot who becomes her partner. (Played by gorgeous Daniel McDonald, this ghostly flyboy is the only phantom on Broadway who belongs in a Ralph Lauren ad.)

As their chaste, wispy courtship wafts by, so do the airy musical numbers - unmemorably, except for the catchy (but cloying) inspirational anthem, "First You Dream."

Ultimately what buttresses "Steel Pier" is not its vague social commentary about spunky people getting through the Depression by the skin of their dreams, or the wan love stuff, but Susan Stroman's impressive dances. These variations on popular '30s dance-hall crazes are always diverting, and in the case of the Busby Berkeley-esque "Leave the World Behind," charmingly campy on Tony Walton's nimble set. And as the marathon winds on the hoofers and their movements grow artfully droopier and more pooped.

Overall, though, "Steel Pier" doesn't wear one out so much as drift innocuously by, hardly justifying the $7.5 million expenditure and the talents of a fine ensemble - which also includes Tony nominee Debra Monk, as the archtypal Older But Wiser Sassy Gal.

"Candide." This other major revival defies expectations, perversely. A seemingly foolproof cast (Jim Dale, Andrea Martin, opera star Harolyn Blackwell), and the exquisite Leonard Bernstein-Richard Wilbur score, are foiled by an obnoxious, over-the-top Harold Prince staging that mines few laughs from an overload of tiresome mugging.

Prince was also responsible for the acclaimed 1973 version of "Candide," which debuted a new book by Hugh Wheeler that is used again here. But Prince has reframed Voltaire's fable into an aggressively cornball medicine show, overwhelmed rather than strengthened by the elaborate sets of Clarke Dunham and Judith Dolan's splashy costumes.

In contrast to the tiresome between-song antics, the musical highlights - "Glitter and Be Gay," "Make Our Garden Grow" - are still glorious. And in the title role, boyish tenor Jason Danieley makes a splendid Broadway debut. May we see him again soon, in happier circumstances. ----------------------------------------------------------------- The Broadway line

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