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Wednesday, February 2, 2005
‘Little Shop’ at Fox
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW: ”Little Shop of Horrors.” Through Sunday.
With its blood-thirsty, sharp-tongued plant, shrinking-violet florist and nitrous-swilling dentist, Howard Ashman and Alan Menken’s ”Little Shop of Horrors” has become the musical-theater equivalent of laughing gas.
Based on Roger Corman’s low-budget 1960 flick,”Little Shop” is a sensationally silly send-up of B-movie gore, end-of-the-planet science fiction and that perennial romantic-comedy formula: Boy gets girl. Plant eats girl. Boy loses girl.
Recently repotted for the Broadway stage, ”Little Shop of Horrors” now brings its untamed, unpruned self to the Fox Theatre, where it runs through Sunday. Directed by Jerry Zaks (”La Cage aux Folles”) and choreographed by Kathleen Marshall (”Wonderful Town”), the Broadway in Atlanta production is a veritable blooming garden of perky-as-a-daisy performances, wildly fertilized designs and smartly planted surprises.
A testament to the hybrid talent of Ashman and Menken (who later created Disney’s ”Beauty and the Beast”), ”Little Shop” may have once qualified as a dark and subversive comedy —- the ”Urinetown” of the ’80s. But despite its Faustian design, today it’s hard to take the story of a burping, body-snatching plant too seriously.
The magic of ”Little Shop” rests in its Motown-inspired musical roots and the tenderly budding romance of nerdy Seymour (Jonathan Rayson) and squeaky Audrey (Tari Kelly). When he acquires a strange-looking botanical specimen, Seymour names it Audrey II. Soon, he discovers that the carnivorous plant is as bloodthirsty as Count Dracula, as invasive as kudzu and as seductive-sounding as Barry White (voice by the excellent Michael James Leslie).
Like that other movie-based musical bon-bon ”The Producers,” ”Little Shop” employs a goofy hero and a paternal boss who become embroiled in a ridiculous get-rich-quick scheme that erupts into comic bedlam. But instead of Max Bialystock, here we have floral-shop owner Mr. Mushnik (the superb Lenny Wolpe), who recognizes that Audrey II is a calling card for curiosity seekers and potential customers.
Rayson brings a sweetly naive charm to the part of Seymour. James Moye, as Audrey’s sadistic dentist boyfriend Orin, is alternately snarly and giddy; it’s a pleasure to watch him laugh himself to death. Kelly makes a wonderfully ditzy Audrey; part Jayne Mansfeld, part Betty Boop, she gets laughter through the bruises.
And Yasmeen Sulieman, Nikki Renee Daniels and LaTonya Holmes are delightful as the soulful trio of Chiffon, Crystal and Ronette. (”Bop sh’bop, little shoppa terror.”)
Scott Pask’s forward-leaning set captures the claustrophobia of Skid Row and the Dickensian drear of Mushnik’s shop. William Ivey Long’s costumes, particularly for Audrey, are fetching and fun. And puppeteers Michael Latini, Paul McGinnis and Marc Petrosino manipulate Audrey II into a nimble and expressive pod with gnarly roots. (Puppet design is by the Jim Henson Workshop and Martin P. Robinson.)
”’Little Shop of Horrors” reads like an Edgar Allan Poe story for the Peewee Herman generation. Oozing clever lyrics and classical vaudeville schtick, occasionally sick, it’s good to the last drop.
THE 411: 8 p.m. today-Saturday. 2 p.m. Saturday. 1:30 p.m. and 6:30 p.m. Sunday. $21-$54. Broadway in Atlanta, Fox Theatre, 660 Peachtree St. N.E., Atlanta. 404-817-8700, www.broadwayacrossamerica.com
The verdict: Laugh yourself to death.
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Four shows: a little folk, a lotta soul and a blast of South African gospel
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Those of us who’ve been overdosing on the new Bright Eyes record “I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning,” got another fix Tuesday night at a sold-out Variety Playhouse. Conor Oberst - the band’s skinny bard - had with him a large folk-rock band rounded out by a trumpet.
Much of the music leaned country, with some mandolin and steel guitar and plenty of acoustic strumming. The lyrical content leaned emo, with Oberst seeming to speak for a generation of scruffy, well-read romantics. And the attitude leaned punk, with Oberst’s untrained voice serving material that would seem utterly false if sung prettily. If there was a complaint, it was that the show seemed a little too faithful to the record, with yelps and inflections that seemed improvised in the studio reproduced impeccably in person.
After awhile, Oberst’s band left him alone with a guitar to sing “When The President Talks To God.” (It’s not on “Wide Awake,” but has been available for free on www.itunes.com.) One of the most cutting political songs in recent memory, it asked “When the president talks to God, do they drink near-beer and go play golf?/ While they pick which countries to invade/ Which Muslim souls still can be saved.”
The audience cheered. And at about 11 p.m., as I was leaving early to catch soul combo Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings at the EARL, the crowd grew slightly larger as Phish frontman Trey Anastasio - in town recording his new project - walked into the building.
Jones and the Dap-Kings were tighter and hotter than Bright Eyes. They unapologetically harked hearkened back to the vintage soul era, but their house-rocking musicianship and Jones’ tireless belting made their deep funk feel vital.
Jones, who hails from James Brown’s hometown of Augusta, even gave the Godfather a run for his rug-cutting money. Near midnight, she removed her high-heels and did barefoot versions of the mashed potato, then the jerk, then the boogaloo, then the pony.
Jolie Holland, Sunday night at the EARL
Between fighting illness and imploring the audience not to talk/smoke in her face, the cherubic singer-songwriter had a rough time. Her set was short, her voice was pained and her disposition was that of a waitress dying to get off her feet.
But she still sounded oddly beautiful.
Holland’s fascinating warble does not need full volume or health. It’s a slippery instrument, sliding around and through songs that would be pop if they weren’t so creaky and so dark. It was somehow fitting, then, that she should perform under duress.
Her set, a sampling of blues-informed folk, included “The Littlest Birds,” a lovely song recorded by her old band The Be Good Tanyas and released in a different version on Holland’s lo-fi solo debut “Catalpa.” She also performed “One With The Birds,” by her kindred spirit Will Oldham. Both were appropriate for this odd musical creature who, Sunday night, seemed to wish she could fly far away.
Soweto Gospel Choir, Sunday afternoon at the Ferst Center For the Arts
International music (however wonderful) is generally no easy sell in Atlanta, but Sunday’s turnout was impressive - a diverse and appreciative audience packed in tight.
The patrons got a riot of praise music. This South African gospel choir has a big-tent philosophy about what counts as gospel, and the 20-plus members can sing in a number of languages. And so the repertoire ranged from the traditional Zulu chant “Mbube” to an eye-moistening “Amazing Grace” to the rousing South African national anthem, which the singers performed with their fists over their hearts.
Though a handful of singers occasionally split off to play backup in an electric band, much of the music was produced by simple hand-drums and the human voice. The choir members had their individual strengths (some were playful, some were soulful), which gave the performance personality. What was perhaps more impressive was hearing the full choir harmonize - it sounded less like a couple dozen people singing together, and more like a pipe organ roaring to life.
