By Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey
Directed by Kathleen Marshall
A Mirvish Production at the Canon Theatre
April 7-18, 2010

   When it first appeared on Broadway way back in 1972, Grease was already a nostalgia piece, with its rock’n’roll hearkening back to an early period of that music. Now—and especially after the hit film version with John Travolta, Olivia Newton John, and Stockard Channing—that nostalgia seems distinctly pale, and the current production team has turned to the commodity aspect of commercial show biz. This is the most peculiar marketing strategy ever for Grease. The musical is bracketed by a 10-15 minute warm-up act with its Vince Fontaine (Dominic Fortuna) serving as host/performer, and a finale specially devised for and devoted to Taylor Hicks, who headlines the show as Teen Angel, though he has but one solo in the show and is a far cry from any teenager even on American Idol, that hyped up exercise in musical mediocrity that Hicks won four years ago. After the curtain-calls, Hicks reappears to perform a single from his new CD that he autographs in the lobby after the show for any heart-palpitating fan. In the show itself, he is hardly a throwback to Fabian or Presley or any of the big generators of teen hysteria from the 50s or 60s. With his platinum blond hair and husky voice, and stiff acting, only a little relieved by camp, he is wince worthy.

   But he is not the only misfit in this show. Hardly any of the cast of supposed teenagers from Rydell High is credible when it comes to the look of that generation. For the most part, they all seem at least five to ten years too old for their roles, and their acting and singing energy is rather wan. When they get by—and some of the rock’n’roll numbers give them a necessary charge—the show does revert to being a parody of teenage tribal rites, governed by such things as pajama parties, burger palaces, drive-in movies, high school dances, and rebellion exercises. There isn’t much of a story, though there’s something of a twist on Doris Day-Rock Hudson movies. The ingénue named Sandy Dumbrowksi (her initials are the same for those of Sandra Dee, to whom she is mockingly compared) has to forsake her prim ways to win back Danny Zuko, a greaser who has to pretend to be rougher and tougher on her than he would really like. But despite her resorting to a bouffant hair-do, tight jeans, scarlet lipstick, and gold high heels, she preserves her virginity presumably until after her final clinch with Danny. Rather like good old Doris did with Rock in their movies. I refer, of course, to good old virginity, not to hairstyle or fashion. Alas, the leads have no chemistry, no ardour, no flash, and Josh Franklin, looking at least 30, has trouble with his pipes, shrieking off-key on at least two occasions, while Lauren Ashley Zakrin as Sandy is—as Randy Jackson would observe on American Idol—exceedingly pitchy on “You’re The One That I Want.” 

   The score is sometimes amiable or romantic (“Summer Nights,” “Hopelessly Devoted To You”), and it falls into the pastiche mode. There’s the gang auto number (“Greased Lightnin”) the gung-ho gang number (“We Go Together”), and the teenage distress signals (“Sandy,” and “It’s Raining On Prom Night”). The most memorable numbers are left over from the movie version. Kathleen Marshall hasn’t helped matters by her direction. She allows most of her cast to overact. Kelly Felthous’s Rizzo has a slash of a mouth and she carries herself like a wrestler. The blondes mostly play dumb blondes in stereotype, just as the nerds act nerdy in a needlessly nerdy way. I did grow to like Allison Fischer’s Frenchy once I got past her Betty Boop voice and wigs, but I liked Will Blum’s roly-poly Roger and Bridie Carroll’s plump Jan much better. Director Marshall doesn’t mask the shortcomings by her mediocre choreography, so this revival needs considerable reviving. 

photo: Joan Marcus

pic: Dominic Fortuna (as Vince Fontaine) and company  in "Born to Hand Jive"



Go Back to: Stage Reviews