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But I found myself wondering while watching Douglas Carter Beane and Kathleen Marshall's wheel-spinning plastered-grin fest, in a way I never have watching the film, whether they would have been better off going in a different direction. The movie doesn't make a lick of sense—changing a thoughtful (if intractable) book musical into a mindless revue in a Broadway climate ruled by Rodgers and Hammerstein is a good thing?—but its throbbing Technicolor universe obeys its own engaging set of rules. And many of the cast members (Fred Astaire, Cyd Charisse, Nanette Fabray) are excellent, and the Arthur Schwartz–Howard Dietz score is undeniably catchy. Its numbers (some of which hailed from the 1931 Broadway revue of the same title, in which Astaire starred with his sister, Adele), which include "Triplets," "That's Entertainment!", and, perhaps most famously, "Dancing in the Dark," are good enough hooks on which to hang a contemporary outing. But the nonsense story (Betty Comden and Adolph Green wrote the screenplay) is not, and if you expect intelligent, urbane theatregoers—or even just those capable of paying attention—you would have to do better.
Sadly, that proves to be the case. Beane has fixed one of the film's biggest problems—a rushed-through final act, as the show is pressed and polished into fighting shape—but not most of the others. It's impossible (and maddening), for example, to figure out how the likes of "Triplets," "Louisiana Hayride," and "I Guess I'll Have to Change My Plan," among others, make any sense within the narrative. And though Beane has significantly expanded and broadened the characters, he hasn't made their plights much deeper or more convincing. On-the-outs movie star Tony Hunter (Brian Stokes Mitchell), who costars in and eventually moves to direct (aka fix) the musical, is not driven by a compelling need to prove himself—he feels he has to live up to his obligations, and that's about it. Gabrielle Gerard (Laura Osnes) comes on board with her avant-garde choreographer boyfriend, Paul (Michael Berresse), but only maintains "improper" romantic attachments until a convenient time for her to switch. And songwriters Lily and Lester Martin (Tracey Ullman and Michael McKean), former marrieds for whom a spark, however faint, still burns, are thoroughly bland second leads who bicker apparently only to inject some continuing conflict.
Because this is considered an "Encores! Special Event," it exists halfway between one of the series's typical concerts and a full production. The actors don't carry scripts, but the set (Derek McLane), costumes (William Ivey Long), and lights (Peter Kaczorowski), as well as the underpowered onstage band (conducted by Todd Ellison), are more suggested than finalized. Marshall's staging and dances are likewise workmanlike and efficient, making full use of mid-20th-century tropes without ever adding anything new or surprising of her own. Much the same may also be said of the performances. Though Mitchell is at his brightest and most nimble here, he brings a heaviness to Tony that weighs down what should be the fleet-footed, effervescent center. Osnes is, as always, gorgeous of appearance and voice, and puts a lightly saucy spin on the traditional ingénue, but she looks out of place during the satirical ballet scenes and noticeably got out of breath during the (unnecessarily) frantic "Louisiana Hayride." Berresse can't make much out of his bitter role, but does his best. So do McKean and Ullman, the latter having more luck than the former, as Beane gives her a solo ("I Still Look at You That Way," beautifully handled) and a backstory that helps tie things together. Still, their on-again, off-again personal and working relationship reminded me of a nearly identical dynamic in the 2007 Kander-Ebb-Holmes musical Curtains. That show also treated a 1950s musical on a troubled out-of-town tryout, but wasn't afraid to take more chances, and have a lot more unusual fun along the way. Though Curtains was far from perfect, it had a personality and more identifiable originality that The Band Wagon conspicuously lacks. Just because there are timeless songs involved doesn't mean that everything else can—or should—pretend that the last 60 years never happened. It may all be perfectly, mindlessly amiable, but it's not quite entertainment of the type lovers of the film would approve.
Encores! Special Event
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