Archives for August 20, 2004

I arrived at the New York State Theater last night in a state of near-exhaustion. I’d been racing the engine pretty hard for several days in a row, shorting myself on sleep in the process, and that day had been especially long (I went out to Brooklyn to interview Madeleine Peyroux, a singer whom regular readers of “About Last Night” know that I greatly admire). Under normal circumstances I would have been taking better care of myself, especially since I have to see eight plays and write five pieces between now and next Friday. Alas, I’d grown a little self-neglectful, and by the time I fell into my seat I was running on fumes.

The curtain went up on the Mark Morris Dance Group, and within minutes I realized that I was having trouble making sense out of A Lake, the first work on the program. I didn’t have much more luck with Marble Halls, a lovely ensemble piece set to the Bach Violin-Oboe Concerto. At that point I leaned over to my companion for the evening and whispered, “I’m going home at intermission.”

Needless to say, I don’t normally bail out of performances, and I never leave a play that I’m reviewing for The Wall Street Journal, no matter how awful it may be, until the bitter end. The idea of missing the second half of a Mark Morris performance would normally be horrifying to me. This time around, though, I knew I wasn’t all there, and as much as I hated to miss Jesu, Meine Freude, which I’ve never seen, I figured I’d better quit while I was behind. So I did.

The rest of the story is quickly told: I went straight to bed and slept for eleven hours. Now I feel surprisingly human again. And while I have a New York International Fringe Festival performance on my plate today, it’s a matinee, meaning that I can and will do the same thing tonight.

To all of you who’ve been writing to urge me to take it a bit easier: I read you loud and clear.

I got a trifle intemperate in today’s Wall Street Journal, where I reviewed Dracula: The Musical, not very affectionately:

Frank Wildhorn, the Rodney Dangerfield of Broadway, is no more likely to get any respect for “Dracula: The Musical,” which opened last night at the Belasco Theater, than for his previous shows. I don’t wish to inflict needless pain on innocent bystanders, so if you actually liked “Jekyll & Hyde” or “The Scarlet Pimpernel,” my suggestion is that you stop reading now, since I bring not peace but a sword — or, rather, a wooden stake.

Actually, Mr. Wildhorn’s watery score isn’t the worst thing about “Dracula.” His is more a sin of omission, since he has neglected to write any tunes capable of being remembered for longer than 10 seconds at a time, meaning that you forget them before they’re over. (Believe me, it’s better that way.) No, the villains-in-chief are Don Black (“Bombay Dreams”) and Christopher Hampton (“Sunset Boulevard”), who share blame for the clich

“The big public likes interpretations that are explanations. For me, music is crystal clear and self-explanatory. Therefore, when I am performing I only propose my feelings.”

G