Musical Misfires: Three Decades of Broadway Musical Heartbreak

Over the past three decades, so many new composers, lyricists, authors, directors, choreographers, and other talents have come on the scene and, not surprisingly, have had their share of success and disappointment. Yet during that same period, veteran artists from the past were still active on Broadway and they too found success and disappointment. You’re never too celebrated or too experienced to find yourself involved in a musical misfire, regardless of the quality of the work. Such esteemed artists as Kander and Ebb, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Terrence McNally, Trevor Nunn, Alan Menken, Lee Adams, Tommy Tune, Stephen Sondheim, Mitch Leigh, Graciela Daniele, and Thomas Meehan are among those whose misfires over the past thirty years are explored in this chapter. When these talents first started working on Broadway it was a very different place. It is fascinating to see how they have (or have not) adapted to the new Broadway as they continued to offer quality musical theatre.

Although it ran a lucrative three years in London, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “chamber musical” Aspects of Love could not turn a profit on Broadway even though the two productions were identical. It was Lloyd Webber’s first project after The Phantom of the Opera and it was light on spectacle so perhaps New York theatergoers expecting another mega-musical were disappointed. The production boasted no American stars, which might have been a factor. Or perhaps there was something too British about Aspects of Love to appeal to Americans. Whatever the reason, the show that many British critics (and a few American ones as well) praised as Lloyd Webber’s most satisfying musical has never caught on in the States over the years.

Lloyd Webber had considered turning David Garnett’s 1955 novel Aspects of Love into a musical for several years. (In 1979 he and Tim Rice were slated to adapt the book into a movie musical but nothing materialized from the plan.) The novel was far from a bestseller but was intriguing to some because its complex romantic triangle was supposedly based on the unconventional Bloomsbury Group of writers and artists of which the bisexual Garnett was a member. In post-World War II Europe, a handsome Englishman, the seventeen-year-old Alex Dillingham, is “sent down” from boarding school so he joins the army. While on leave, he falls in love with the older Rose Vibert, a struggling actress who is forced to play provincial towns. He invites her to his rich Uncle George’s empty villa while she waits for her next acting job, the two having a passionate affair that is interrupted by the unexpected arrival of George. Although he has a bisexual mistress in Paris, the sculptress Giulietta Trapani, George is also swept away by the free-spirited Rose and eventually she drops Alex and weds George. Years later their thirteen-year-old daughter Jenny is a life spirit like her mother who is now a successful stage actress. When Alex is reunited with the family, his passion for Rose is rekindled but he also finds himself smitten with the young Jenny, especially when she returns his affections. This development causes such a strain that the now elderly and sickly George has a fatal heart attack. Alex realizes a relationship with his cousin Jenny is impossible and that life with Rose would always be a perpetual torment so he ends up in the arms of the wily Giulietta. The complexity of the characters was retained from the novel and their sometimes self-destructive natures were even embellished when musicalized. These are very confused and frustrated people who either connect with you emotionally or become tiresome over the plot period of twenty years.

As with the previous Lloyd Webber musicals, Aspects of Love was sung-through, Don Black and Charles Hart providing a kind of conversational recitative between the actual songs. Such an artificial kind of dialogue seemed more palatable in a period piece like The Phantom of the Opera than in a modern tale like Aspects of Love and some critics and theatregoers found the musical banter between songs irritating. The musical’s theme song, “Love Changes Everything,” was recorded by Michael Ball (who played Alex) and was already on the charts before the London opening. It is an insistent and catchy melody and, for some, is best enjoyed as a separate song. In the musical it is reprised no less than six times by different characters with different lyrics and for many theatregoers the number became something of a chore. The most emotional song in the score is Rose’s pathetic “Anything But Lonely” heard near the end of the musical. Also noteworthy is the gushing duet “Seeing Is Believing” (also reprised a lot), the entrancing “The First Man You Remember,” the lively “Give Me the Wine and the Dice,” the knowing female duet “There Is More to Love,” and the lovely “Chanson d’enfance/ Song of Childhood.” For some, the music throughout is often more entrancing than the lyrics which sometimes wallow in predictable clichés. But to be fair, these are operetta-like lyrics and easier to accept than the recitative which aim to be conversational.

The musical featured a small cast of characters and the scenic elements were on a modest scale yet Maria Björnson, who had designed Phantom, created sets and costumes that were so ravishing to behold that the production seemed bigger than it needed to be. (Later productions done on a smaller scale would end up being closer to Lloyd Webber’s original intent.) Aspects of Love was directed with delicacy by Trevor Nunn and the cast was roundly applauded. Michael Ball (Alex), Ann Crumb (Rose), Kevin Colson (George), and Kathleen Rowe McAllen (Giulietta) were not box office names in New York but their performances were so thrilling that Lloyd Webber insisted on all four reprising their roles on Broadway. Lloyd Webber’s The Really Useful Company produced the New York production and wisely housed it in the Broadhurst Theatre, a mid-sized playhouse rather than a large musical house. By the time Aspects of Love opened on April 8, 1990, the advance sale was substantial but so was the cost of bringing this “small” show to New York: an estimated $8 million. The American press was not overwhelmingly supportive, the notices ranging from mixed to disparaging, The New York Times going so far as proclaiming the musical “generates as much heated passion as a trip to the bank.” All the same, it was nominated for seven Tony Awards. Box office sales were sluggish and once the advance was used up the musical faltered. During the holidays, Sarah Brightman, Lloyd Webber’s ex-wife who had endeared herself to Broadway with The Phantom of the Opera, took over the role of Rose to help drum up business. By the time Aspects of Love closed one year later, it had lost its entire $8 million investment. How was this possible? The Broadhurst seated only 1,155 seats so the few times it sold out it could not compensate for the many performances with empty seats. By the end of the 1980s, the economics of producing any kind of musical on Broadway were skyrocketing and Aspects of Love was one of the early victims.

Other Lloyd Webber musicals ran on Broadway despite negative reviews, most notably Starlight Express. Why not Aspects of Love? Quite simply, it was not what American audiences wanted. During and after its successful run in the West End, Aspects of Love saw other productions in Canada, Australia, Hungary, Denmark, Germany, and Japan, some of which were re-conceived as true “chamber” musicals and worked very well. Yet the musical has never joined the ranks of Lloyd Webber’s frequently revived pieces. A movie or television version was never made and it has become one of the composer’s lesser known works. All the same, Aspects of Love remains a favorite for many lovers of British musicals. For more details about the making of this work, check out Kurt Ganzl’s book The Complete Aspects of Love.

A musical biography that didn’t worry too much about the facts, Ain’t Broadway Grand was about showman extraordinaire Mike Todd (1907-1958) who was bigger than life, the kind of guy who could fill a Broadway musical with story, anecdote, and personality. The fact that Ain’t Broadway Grand was put together by such experienced, street-smart talents and ended up being such an uninteresting show is very sobering. Thomas Meehan (Annie, The Producers, Hairspray) wrote the script with lyricist Lee Adams (Bye Bye Birdie, Applause) and Mitch Leigh (Man of La Mancha) composed the music. On paper, this was all very impressive. Even the premise for Ain’t Broadway Grand had possibilities. In 1948, Todd produced a Broadway vehicle for the very popular comic Bobby Clark called As the Girls Go in which he played Waldo, the husband of the first woman to be elected president of the United States. As the First Gentleman, Waldo had a lot of time on his hands which Clark filled with comic routines and chasing girls about the White House. It was a silly musical but it had a playful score by Jimmy McHugh (music) and Harold Adamson (lyrics) which included two hit song – “You Say the Nicest Things, Baby” and “I Got Lucky in the Rain” – and Clark’s clowning was a show in itself. In Ain’t Broadway Grand, Todd (Mike Burstyn) is anxious to be accepted as a classy producer rather than the crass showman he was known as. So he hires two Yale graduates to write the politically satirical musical Of the People in the spirit of the Gershwins’ Of Thee I Sing. The show is such a disaster in Boston that he brings in comic Clark (Gerry Vichi), turns the musical into a broad farce, and has a hit. (Foolishly, Meehan and Lee made Clark the president, thereby losing the primary comic gimmick of As the Girls Go.) There were a few biographical touches, such as Todd’s troubled marriage to Joan Blondell (Maureen McNamara) who leaves him and his high-pressure lifestyle, only to return for the happy ending. Comedienne-stripper Gypsy Rose Lee (Debbie Shapiro Gravitte) is involved in the makeover and Todd’s secretary Harriet Poplin (Alix Korey) is there for the sarcastic one-liners. It was not an exciting story, prompting one critic to dub the show Ain’t Broadway Bland.

The score for Ain’t Broadway Grand is, for the most part, in the style of a 1940s musical. The title tune is a catchy ditty with some painful lyrics (“the Great Gay Way”) which unfortunately is reprised no less than four times in the show. Todd sings the adoring “You’re My Star” to Blondell but the impact is soured when he describes her as “my franks and beans, my caviar.” Oddly, Gypsy Rose Lee is given the torch song “Maybe, Maybe Not” instead of the sassy kind of number one anticipates. Clark sings an old-time rag titled “Tall Dames and Low Comedy” and leads the cast in the jolly “Girls, Ahoy!,” both of which are fun if rather generic. Blondell’s lament “He’s My Guy” disappoints with its repetitive music and rhymes. Similarly, Todd’s song of yearning, “Class,” is an interesting list song but the music offers no surprises. Perhaps the most satisfying song is the bluesy “Waiting in the Wings” which Blondell sings about her frustrated love for Todd. It is an old-fashioned score, appropriate for the show, but not memorable in an old-fashioned way.

When Ain’t Broadway Grand opened at the large Lunt-Fontanne Theatre on Broadway on April 18, 1993, it had a modest advance sale because there were no bankable stars in the production. Mike Burstyn had taken over the title role in Barnum during its run and had proved to be a versatile song and dance man. Similarly, Debbie Shapiro Gravitte had been a replacement in a few shows and won a Tony Award as a member of the original cast of Jerome Robbins’ Broadway. But neither had marquee power. The critics were ambivalent about Burstyn’s Todd but roundly praised Gravitte’s Gypsy Rose Lee. The press was in agreement about the weak script and the less-than-thrilling score so few of the reviews recommended Ain’t Broadway Grand. Scott Harris’ direction was little mentioned but there were compliments for Randy Skinner’s conventional but efficient choreography. (Skinner’s work was the only thing the Tony committee nominated at season’s end.) With such unenthusiastic reviews and such a large house to fill, the musical shuttered after three weeks. Sadly, Ain’t Broadway Grand was the final Broadway score for veterans Lee Adams and Mitch Leigh.

In 1978, a surprise hit came to Broadway in the form of a risqué musical comedy titled The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Inspired by the true story of a brothel called the Chicken Ranch in La Grange, Texas (the musical is reset in the fictional town of Gilbert, Texas), the establishment is owned and operated by Miss Mona Stangley. When a television reporter gets wind of this house of ill repute, which plays host to the libidinous needs of local politicians and college athletes, he calls upon the governor himself to have it shuttered. Local sheriff Ed Earl Dodd does what he can to help Miss Mona and her girls to continue, but ultimately has no choice but to close them down. The musical concludes with all of the whorehouse’s employees packing up and moving on to new horizons. The Broadway production, which ran for 1,584 performances, was nominated for seven Tony Awards, including Best Musical. It was chiefly singled-out for its clever choreography by Tommy Tune and Thommie Walsh and its funny and poignant score by Carol Hall.

A decade-and-a-half after The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas made its saucy and sassy premiere on Broadway, the original creators, including book writers Larry L. King and Peter Masterson, and composer-lyricist Carol Hall, decided to check in on Miss Mona to see what had become of her since leaving the Chicken Ranch. Also along for the ride were the co-directors of the original, Masterson and Tommy Tune, with Tune collaborating with Jeff Calhoun on the choreography this time around. The result would be the short-lived The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Pubic, one of the few musical theatre sequels to grace the Broadway stage.

Where The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas found Miss Mona running her establishment in relative secrecy thanks to its rural location, The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public took the action to Las Vegas where sex is a legal part of the public trade. Miss Mona (Dee Hoty) is enticed out of retirement by the IRS to run the Stallion Fields brothel, a whorehouse that owes back taxes to the tune of $26 million. A billionaire named Sam Dallas (Scott Holmes), a financial wizard and Mona’s ex-lover whom she calls upon for help, creates complications by selling stock shares in the business, drawing the ire and suspicion of conservative politician and television evangelist Senator A. Harry Hardast (Ronn Carroll). In a congressional hearing orchestrated by Senator Hardast (think hard-ass) challenging her qualifications to be licensed by the stock exchange, Miss Mona defends herself on national television, providing a humiliating blow to the Senator and making an inspiring case for freedom and liberty. Mona ultimately triumphs, with Hardast storming out in defeat. There is finally a happily-ever-after for the undaunted bordello madam who is now seen as a national hero. Throughout the show, a Vegas stand-up comic (played by Jim David) offered narration and commentary on the action.

The locale of Las Vegas gave the authors an opportunity to probe the seemingly licentious world of legalized prostitution and the polarizing opinions it inspires. The Vegas “Strip,” strewn with sequined showgirls, flashing neon lights, and the sounds of casino slots, added elements of color and flash to the bawdy Broadway musical. The production never shied away from the sex that was at the center of its narrative. When The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public was being written in the 1990s, phone sex had become a popular moneymaker with people paying a dollar a minute to speak to a hot number on the other end of the line who talked “dirty” to you. The musical featured a song titled “Call Me” that saw Miss Mona’s girls sitting in cubicles providing this service. Bob Mackie’s costumes intentionally showed a lot of skin, raising the temperature of the show several degrees. The producers even ran a television infomercial that offered background on legal prostitution in Nevada, talked about the making of the show, and told potential audiences to call 1-800-BROTHEL to secure tickets.

As the show entered previews at Broadway’s Lunt-Fontanne Theatre in the spring of 1994, word on the street was that The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public was in trouble. Many believed that the “new” musical was just a mediocre rehash of The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, minus the imagination and fun. Though Carol Hall managed a few terrific songs for the sequel, particularly the rousing “I’m Leaving Texas,” the general consensus was that most of the score was forgettable. The critics seemed to agree and when the show finally raised its curtain on opening night, a blistering parade of condemnations appeared in the review columns the following day. Most dismissed the show as tasteless, tacky, and uninspired, with one critic going so far as referring to the show as “junk” and “the worst Broadway show of the season.” The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public received a singular Tony nomination for Dee Hoty, but that was not enough for it to overcome its poor word-of-mouth and scathing remarks by the critics. The show closed after 16 performances, though a cast album was made preserving the show for posterity.

It took By Jeeves twenty-five years to get to Broadway and, when it finally arrived, it garnered so little attention that it was hardly remembered or missed when it closed after two months. That happens to shows all the time but this was an Andrew (Cats) Lloyd (The Phantom of the Opera) Webber musical! The long genesis of By Jeeves is not without interest. The Jeeves of the title is the stolid but ingenious manservant to the silly ass Englishman Bertie Wooster in a series of comic novels and stories by P. G. Wodehouse. In 1975, a young Lloyd Webber, one of a legion of Wodehouse fans, approached his lyricist partner Tim Rice with the idea of musicalizing Bertie and Jeeves. The two had already found celebrity with Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and the new project would let them stretch their songwriting skills by writing musical numbers in the style of 1920s and 1930s songs. Rice questioned his ability to write in the unique Wodehouse kind of humor in either the book or the lyrics and opted out. Lloyd Webber then turned to Alan Ayckbourn, the most successful author of British stage comedies of the era. Ayckbourn agreed and came up with a complicated plot, taken from several Wodehouse stories, and filled it with many of his famous farcical characters. Ayckbourn also wrote the clever lyrics which were sung to Lloyd Webber’s tuneful and catchy jazz-age music. Film star David Hemmings was cast as Bertie Wooster and Michael Aldridge played the unflappable Jeeves. Titled Jeeves, the musical had a tryout run in Bristol where the production ran three and a half hours. There were too many stories, too many characters, and too many songs, leaving the audience confused and numb. Songs, characters, and large hunks of the libretto were gone by the time Jeeves opened in London in 1975 but the musical was still not working. The reviews were negative and Jeeves struggled to run 38 performances. It was a crushing blow for the popular composer and the established playwright.

Although Lloyd Webber and Ayckbourn amicably parted ways to work on other projects, both still believed that the Wodehouse stories and characters would make a splendid musical comedy. Twenty years later they returned to the idea and, learning from their earlier mistakes, came up with a musical, now titled By Jeeves, with a less multi-storied plot and a cast of thirteen. The concept for the new version guaranteed a small-scale production. The premise is a musical farce about Bertie and Jeeves that is being performed in a church hall by members of the parish, the vicar himself playing one of the roles. There was very little scenery or props (Bertie’s automobile consisted of a cardboard box) and the actors sometime broke the fourth wall when something in the production went awry. The story takes place over one weekend at the country house of Sir Watkyn Bassett where Bertie and Jeeves are invited to help Gussie Fink-Nottle win the hand of Madeline Bassett. The plan involves taking on the identity of Gussie because Gussie has taken Bertie’s name, acting as matchmaker for pal Bingo Little. Bertie spends the weekend being chased by Honoria Glossop and avoiding the matrimonial intentions of Stiffy Byng. The farce climaxes with shenanigans in the middle of the night with Bertie pretending to be a burglar wearing a pig mask and finding himself in the wrong bedroom. It was all delicious nonsense and true to Wodehouse. Over the years Lloyd Webber had recycled some of the music from Jeeves for other musicals but three of the original songs survived and new ones were written for By Jeeves, Ayckbourn again providing the lyrics. The score is pure musical comedy and, in the mind of many, contains some of Lloyd Webber’s most playful and spirited songs. Ayckbourn’s lyrics are equally piquant, often capturing the Wodehouse wit and silliness. The title number is a merry list song that never runs out of jocular items and waggish rhymes. Even the music is funny as the notes bounce back and forth like a rhythmic tennis match. “The Hallo Song” is a nonsense number that reminds one of the kind of tomfoolery Groucho Marx might have sung. “Banjo Boy” is a lively rhythm number with a march tempo while “Travel Hopefully” is a giddy travel song with a goofy sense of adventure. Even the love songs, such as the flowing “Half a Moment” and the tango-flavored “That Was Nearly Us,” have tongue-in-cheek lyrics and uptempo music. The whole score for By Jeeves cheerfully contrasts the operatic sound of Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera and one suspects it was a joy for him to return to the kind of musical comedy songs he had not written since Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Lloyd Webber and Ayckbourn were wary of another West End flop so they premiered By Jeeves in 1996 at the theatre in Scarborough in Yorkshire where the playwright presented most of his comedies before sending them on to London. Pleased that they got it right this time and encouraged by the audience response, Lloyd Webber and Ayckbourn brought the Scarborough production of By Jeeves to the West End for a twelve-week limited engagement. The critics and the public were so receptive that the musical moved to a larger theatre and remained for eight months. Although Broadway producers in the 1990s did not hesitate to bring the latest Lloyd Webber musical to New York, By Jeeves wasn’t a London smash hit with a spectacle-driven production and there was little interest in the show. Instead the musical had its American premiere at the Goodspeed Opera House in Connecticut later in 1996. The intimate historic theatre was ideal for the small musical and By Jeeves was well received. There were subsequent productions regionally but the musical did not arrive in New York until October 28, 2001, when it played at the Helen Hayes Theatre, one of the smallest playhouses on Broadway. Much of the Goodspeed cast was reunited and Ayckbourn himself directed the production. The New York reviews were not encouraging. Some critics commended the way By Jeeves brought the Wodehouse characters to life but most thought the story slight and the humor tiresome. Even the songs got mixed notices, though some reviewers thought Lloyd Webber’s music refreshingly unpretentious. The cast was also criticized. John Scherer (Bertie) and Martin Jarvis (Jeeves) were complimented but the rest of the acting was considered uneven. The New York Times was on the side of the Wodehouse fans, stating “this new production features a fantastic tap-dancing cast and thirteen delightful songs composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber with lyrics by Alan Ayckbourn, and is as refreshingly English as a gin and tonic!” Audiences were divided in their reactions to the little musical. Some (mostly Wodehouse admirers) thought By Jeeves a nimble-witted romp; others found the comedy odd and unfunny. Also, the barebones production looked rather amateurish on Broadway; perhaps the show would have fared much better Off Broadway. Even in such a small Broadway house, By Jeeves could only find an audience for two months. The musical was not nominated for any Tony Awards. By Jeeves is best enjoyed by fans of Wodehouse and his two most famous characters. The misadventures of Bertie and Jeeves have transferred to television successfully, finding a wide audience on Public Television in the States. But the duo have been less fortunate on the American stage. All the same, By Jeeves remains a vivacious and melodic show for some Anglophile audiences and regional theatres have had success with it.

The Frogs is a Stephen Sondheim musical that many of his fans forget about. It is an old/new musical based on an old comedy and is such an offbeat hybrid that one has difficulty knowing where to place it in the Sondheim repertoire. First written in 1974 but seen only by a few people at Yale University, then given a studio recording in 2000, and finally seen in a much-revised version in a limited run on Broadway in 2004, The Frogs seems to have slipped between the cracks. Yet it is arguably an important Sondheim work, unique in many ways and potent in a manner unlike any of his other musicals. One has to go back to 405 BC and Aristophanes’ Greek comedy The Frogs to understand the full circle that the piece has undergone. Aristophanes’ comedies were uncensored criticisms of the state, the arts, and male and female roles in society. It was a time of artistic freedom in Athens and one could get away with a lot, especially in comedy. Aristophanes’ The Frogs satirizes the arts but also the political climate of the time. The god Dionysus, patron of theatre, wine, and fertility, feels the new plays presented in Athens are so poor that he decides to travel to the Underworld and bring back the recently deceased playwright Euripides. He also hopes the wise poet will contrive a way to convince the rulers to abandon the current Peloponnesian War. With his wily slave Xanthias and dressed in a lion’s hide suggested by his half-brother Heracles, Dionysus pays Charon to ferry him to the Underworld by crossing a lake. In these dangerous waters they are attacked by a chorus of frogs who sing nonsense verses but Dionysus escapes the amphibians and arrives on the opposite shore where he is greeted by Pluto, god of the Underworld. Because Heracles made many enemies in the Underworld, Dionysus and Xanthias have to take turns wearing Heracles’ lion’s fur to outwit them. Dionysus finally finds Euripides who is involved in a debate with the tragic playwright Aeschylus over who is the better poet and deserves to sit at Pluto’s dinner table. A contest is held between the two renowned playwrights and, using scales, it is determined that Aeschylus’ plays have more weight. Dionysus also believes Aeschylus will make the leaders of Athens see reason, so Pluto gives Aeschylus permission to return to life and Dionysus sets off for Athens with the poet and hopes for better plays and a brighter future. As with all of Aristophanes’ comedies, there is a very serious subtext and beneath the satire of the theatre is a stinging commentary on the political situation.

A few millennia later, writer-director Burt Shevelove staged his adaptation of The Frogs at Yale University and was intrigued enough with its modern implications that he approached Stephen Sondheim in 1974 about collaborating on a musical version. This was not to be a Broadway or even a theatre-bound production but an unorthodox production performed in the gymnasium swimming pool at Yale. Sondheim, who had recently been involved in such major Broadway projects as Company, Follies, and A Little Night Music, thought the idea audacious and irresistible. He and Shevelove had worked together on A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum fourteen years earlier in which they played fast and loose with Roman plays by Plautus. Shevelove did likewise with Aristophanes but, unlike Forum, The Frogs was not just escapist musical comedy. He cut down the original text, made the competing playwrights George Bernard Shaw and William Shakespeare, and incorporated many topical references of the day, from the theatre (Oh! Calcutta!) to politics (the Watergate hearings). The Yale production, directed by Shevelove, had a cast of seventy that included the Yale Swim Team and such students as Christopher Durang, Meryl Streep, and Sigourney Weaver. The action took place in and out of the water and Dionysus (Larry Blyden) literally took a boat to the Underworld. The production played for one week in May of 1974 and, despite dreadful acoustics in the venue, audiences and the few critics that saw it were pleased. Although Sondheim knew this was a bit of a lark and that The Frogs was most likely a one-time event, he took writing the score very seriously. The opening “Invocation and Instructions to the Audience” is a tongue-in-cheek prologue that both amuses and chastises the audience for its usual bad theatergoing habits. The music and gibberish lyrics for “The Frogs” is avant-garde in a way, though The New York Times critic Frank Rich later compared it to some of Benjamin Britten’s most vigorous passages. The chorus of frogs urges the audience not to worry about the state of the world and to accept things the way they are in “It’s Only a Play.” During the contest, Shakespeare wins by singing the intoxicating “Fear No More” taken from his Cymbeline. Sondheim had fun with outrageous rhymes in the jaunty “Traveling Music.” It was an abbreviated score but the work of a major songwriter in full bloom.

There were a few college and regional productions of The Frogs (some in swimming pools) over the years before a concert version was performed in 2000 at the Library of Congress in honor of Sondheim’s birthday. Nathan Lane played Dionysus and wrote some jokes and topical comments which he inserted into the short musical. Sondheim was impressed and, Shevelove having died in 1982, he asked Lane if he’d consider updating and turning the piece into a full-length musical if he provided more songs. The concert version was recorded and Lane went to work on a new libretto. Events such as the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, the Iraq War, and the administration of George W. Bush inspired Lane to make The Frogs even more political than the 1974 version. Sondheim revised some of his score and wrote six original songs, among them the boastful, rhyme-packed “Dress Big” for Heracles (Burke Moses), the quietly hilarious “All Aboard” for Charon (John Byner), the witty “Hades” in which Pluto (Peter Bartlett) points out the advantages of being dead, and the flowing ballad “Ariadne” in which Dionysus (Lane) recalls his late wife. Much of the new material was in the musical comedy vein, a genre Sondheim had not tackled in years. Lane’s script was joke-filled but also very pointed, not afraid to express some sobering ideas. By the “Final Instructions to the Audience,” Sondheim and Lane went so far as to attack the audience’s complicity, telling the citizens of Athens not to “just shrug” like a “conscientious slug,” but to “learn to be rude” and to “shake your ass.” Not since Anyone Can Whistle (1964) had a Sondheim show confronted its audience so blatantly. The Lincoln Center Theatre subscribers were not amused.

The Frogs opened on July 22, 2004, in the Vivian Beaumont Theatre. Susan Stroman directed and choreographed the musical with verve, costume designer William Ivey Long used splashes of color for the stylized frogs, and Kenneth Posner’s lighting was indeed other-worldly. Lane was outstanding as Dionysus and many of his best scenes were with Roger Bart (replacing Saturday Night Live comic Chris Kattan during rehearsals) who was a sparkling Xanthias. Daniel Davis and Michael Silberry were spot-on as Shaw and Shakespeare, the latter sending chills down one’s spine with his haunting rendition of “Fear No More.” Peter Bartlett’s Pluto was a delight and, in a small but memorable role, John Byner was a droll Charon. There was no question this was a first-class production. So why did so few people like it? Aside from offending some audiences with its “Final Instructions,” the script was deemed longer than it had to be. In turning a short Greek comedy into a full evening’s entertainment, there seemed to be some dry stretches. The debate between Shakespeare and Shaw, while no longer than Aristophanes’ duologue between Aeschylus and Euripides, struck audiences as endless. Many felt that some of the dancing went on too long; frankly, watching frogs dance, no matter how athletic and ingenious, got a bit wearing. Maybe it was all more fun in a swimming pool. What several critics carped about was the uneasy mixture of broad comedy and serious issues. Yet this is what Aristophanes is all about. By being true to their source, Lane and Sondheim risked losing their modern audience. The Frogs was an experiment (like most Sondheim musicals) that did not result in a crowd-pleaser. Some reviews recognized and praised the experiment but it wasn’t enough to encourage Lincoln Center Theatre to extend the run after twelve weeks. The Frogs was totally ignored by the Tony Award committee the following spring. Perhaps they, like the mostly conservative subscribers at Lincoln Center, were also offended. So The Frogs, despite some subsequent productions regionally and in Britain and Australia, is, unfortunately, too little remembered today.

Curtains, one of a handful of Kander and Ebb musicals left unproduced when lyricist Fred Ebb died in 2004, was eventually presented on Broadway in 2007. Oddly, it didn’t seem like a Kander and Ebb show. Since their repertoire ranged from dark musical drama (Cabaret) to glossy musical comedy (Women of the Year), it sounds presumptuous to suggest that there is just one kind of Kander and Ebb show. Yet so many hands had worked on Curtains over the years that it had the mark of no particular artist or team. Instead it was an obviously cobbled-together musical mystery with some bright spots and, despite its problems, was often entertaining. It was also that rarity on Broadway in the first decade of the 21st c entury: a musical comedy with an original libretto and not based on a movie, play, or book. Veteran librettist Peter Stone (1776, The Will Rogers Follies, Titanic) came up with the idea of a mystery in which an actor is murdered during the out-of-town tryout of a Broadway musical. Stone died in 2003 and the unfinished script was handed over to Rupert Holmes who had triumphed decades earlier as the author and songwriter for the Charles Dickens musical The Mystery of Edwin Drood (1985). Kander and Ebb wrote the score but the complicated script went through many changes as the years dragged on. When new songs were needed, Holmes and Kander himself provided the necessary lyrics. By the time Curtains was given its out-of-town run in Los Angeles in 2006, there were still many script problems and more changes were made. Convinced that the musical could be fixed, Curtains headed to Broadway.

The plot that New Yorkers saw was indeed complicated, filled with plenty of suspects, some red herrings, and a contrived but tidy ending. Curtains begins with the finale of the musical Robbin’ Hood which is trying out at the Colonial Theatre in Boston in 1959 before heading to Broadway. The show is a Wild West spoof of Oklahoma! and in the last moments of the musical we see the good-hearted Robbin’ Hood win a shooting match and propose to the local schoolmarm. After the curtain call, the temperamental, untalented star Jessica Cranshaw is somehow poisoned on stage and the investigating police Lieutenant Frank Cioffe is called in. It turns out Cioffe is a sharp investigator but leads a dull life and is in love with the musical theatre. After a few interviews, he realizes that everyone involved with the show is a possible suspect. Quarantining the whole cast and crew in the theatre, Cioffe questions the brassy producer Carmen Bernstein; her rich and overbearing husband Sidney; their sexy, ambitious daughter Bambi; the songwriter Aaron Fox and his collaborator, ex-wife Georgia Hendricks; the campy British director Christopher Belling; the choreographer Bobby Pepper who also plays the male lead in Robbin’ Hood; the power-hungry critic Daryl Grady; and the understudy Niki Harris with whom Cioffe falls in love. After a lot of nasty revelations, another murder and an attempted murder, the culprit turns out to be a theatre critic who Cioffe takes into custody. (In the theatre world, this is considered a happy ending.) The tone throughout was comic and, consequently the whodunnit aspect of the show was not nearly as interesting as the characters. It helped that the cast was exceptional, particularly Debra Monk’s robust Carmen, Karen Ziemba’s go-getter Georgia, Ernie Sabella’s gruff Sidney, and the very appealing Jill Paice as Nikki. But the real reason for Curtains being at all noteworthy was David Hyde Pierce’s Lieutenant Cioffe. It was a quiet but engaging performance and stood heads above all the caricatures and overplaying that surrounded him. The TV star had proved his stage ability in the silly Spamalot in 2005 but it did not prepare one for the fully-realized characterization Pierce would bring to the lightweight Curtains: funny, touching, witty, even romantic.

The Kander and Ebb score (with some lyric contributions by Holmes) was enjoyable without being very memorable. Many of the numbers are of the spoof genre, such as “Wide Open Spaces” ribbing “Oklahoma!” and “Show People” trying to satirize “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” “It’s a Business” is a funny song about practicality for Carmen, Cioffe describes his humdrum life in “Coffee Shop Nights,” and Aaron expresses his love for his ex-wife in “I Miss the Music.” (This last number has a lyric by Kander and clearly relates the composer’s thoughts on the loss of his collaborator Ebb.) Less interesting were the extended musical numbers that tried to tell the plot but came across as annoying: “The Woman’s Dead,” “He Did It,” “The Man Is Dead,” and so on. These were songs that served a purpose without adding much else. The score in general was uneven and might have played better if the script was stronger. When Curtains opened on March 22, 2007, the critics took both the songs and the libretto to task but applauded the cast, Pierce in particular. Theatremania thought the creators of Curtains “have ladled on the razzle and the dazzle until they've fashioned a product that defies exiting consumers to say they haven't been entertained.” Scott Ellis’ direction and Rob Ashford’s choreography were not faulted but neither were they praised. For the most part, the reviews recommended Curtains for the opportunity to see Pierce’s performance. (He won the Tony Award for Best Actor in a Musical; Curtains was nominated for seven other Tonys, including Best Musical.) Audiences came for over a year because Pierce stuck with the show even though the large Al Hirschfeld Theatre did not consistently sell out. In the end, Curtains lost money but there was a national tour, a West End production, and mountings in such diverse nations as Ireland, the Czech Republic, Australia, Germany, Sweden, and New Zealand. The musical has also found a home with summer theatres and other regional groups. Curtains may be third-tier Kander and Ebb but it is still more fun than a lot of better shows.

The 1992 film Leap of Faith, written by Janus Cercone, directed by Richard Pearce, and starring Steve Martin and Debra Winger, was a modest hit, bringing in $23.4 million at the box office. The story tells of a con-artist preacher named Reverend Jonas Nightingale who travels the country over, fleecing those who attend his tent revivals, then moving on to another town before his actions catch up with him. When his bus breaks down in a small Kansas town, he finds himself under the watchful eye of Sheriff Marla McGowan who recognizes Nightingale for the fraud that he is. Determined to protect her citizens from his wicked ways, Marla begins to shadow Jonas, but in the process she falls in love with the charlatan. Jonas, in return, is transformed by his relationship with Marla and her son, and comes to an epiphany that it is time to change his life for the better. In many ways, Leap of Faith mirrored the plot of the musical classic The Music Man, so it is easy to see how someone saw the musical possibilities of the film.

Leap of Faith as a musical found Cercone adapting his screenplay for the stage, staying faithful to the film’s story, but updating it from the 1990s to the present. Writing the music was that master of melody Alan Menken, the EGOT-winning composer who had written music for such stage musicals as Little Shop of Horrors, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, Weird Romance, and A Christmas Carol, not to mention a litany of Disney films, among them were The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Newsies, and Aladdin which were turned into Broadway hits. For Leap of Faith, he would work with frequent collaborator Glenn Slater as his lyricist. Menken’s facility for writing infectious, evocative melodies that captured both the mood and the moment, made him one of the most sought after composers of film and the stage. Surely, he could be counted on to do the same for Leap of Faith.

Onstage, Leap of Faith starts its story in a New York City Theatre where Reverend Joseph Nightingale is holding one of his tent revivals. As he begins his “show,” the audience is transported ahead to the Kansas plains where Jonas’ tour bus has broken down. Nightingale and his crew, including his right-hand woman Sam, decide to set up shop in the small town of Sweetwater, Kansas, hoping that a recent drought in the area will find locals looking for a miracle. As they set up their revival paraphernalia, Sheriff Marla McGowan arrives and is immediately turned-off by this flim-flam man, giving him three days to fix the bus and get out of town. Jonas sends his people out into Sweetwater to gain information on the local folk: details about gossip, illness, anything he can use to look omniscient at the revival. At the first night of the event, Jonas seemingly heals people and knows their every problem, but this is all staged and he’s fed information by his assistant Zac through a blue tooth device. When a legitimately crippled-boy named Jake asks to be healed, Jonas glosses over him, assuming he can’t really perform such a miracle. It turns out that Jake is Sheriff McGowan’s kid, and the boy is disappointed to find out that his mother is trying to push Jonas out of town. Meanwhile, Ida Mae (another of Jonas’s followers and his bookkeeper) is surprised when her son Isaiah, who has been away at bible college, arrives and begins to denounce the Nightingale ministry. With Jake now being influenced by Jonas, Sheriff Marla goes to the reverend’s motel room, fines him $1,000, and orders him get out of town as quickly as possible. Jonas begins to flirt with her, and she in turn berates his lifestyle (though it is clear that she is attracted to him). The two drink, kiss, and Jonas pulls Marla into his hotel room. Jonas bonds with Jake and the kid becomes more determined than ever to be healed. Jonas has no option but try, especially when Sam insists on it. The boy falls flat on his face in front of the crowd, pushing Marla past the breaking point. She has Jonas arrested and put in jail. As he is dragged away, Jonas promises the crowd an amazing miracle if they fill the tent for one more night. Sitting in his cell, he is visited by Jake who hasn’t lost faith in the preacher. Jonas tries to learn more about Marla and to figure out why she has become an embittered, unhappy person. The townspeople raise the money for bail and Jonas is free to give is final revival sermon. Isaiah, determined to expose Jonas, absconds with the ministry’s books and brings them to Marla. Jonas discourages Jake from attending the final service, but he insists on coming, so the preacher has no recourse but to scream at the kid to scare him off. It doesn’t work. Marla, with evidence in hand, shows up to shut down the operation. Sam tries to help Marla better understand Jonas, making a case for what he does. At the last revival meeting, Marla calls out from the crowd for Jonas to try again to heal Jake. The crowd begins to pray and encourages the reverend to do it. Reluctantly, he does. Jake miraculously stands and walks across the stage, falling into Jonas’s arms. Changed by the experience, Jonas decides to hand his ministry over to Isaiah, choosing to stay in Sweetwater and explore whatever an honest life might bring.

Leap of Faith received a workshop in 2008, with Taylor Heckerling directing, Raul Esparza playing Nightingale, and Elizabeth Stanley as Marla. Another workshop in 2010 traded in Sutton Foster as Marla and Rob Ashford coming onboard as director. Premiering in September of 2010 at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles with direction and choreography by Ashford, Esparza still in the lead, and Brooke Shields playing Marla, it was clear that Leap of Faith needed some fixing before it would be Broadway ready. It was expected that Shields would join the show when it came to New York, but a mixed reaction to her West Coast performance and prior commitments to film and television resulted in the actress having second thoughts. In an interview with Playbill, Shields stated, “I was so intent on [originating a role] for the longest [time], but after that experience, I'm acutely aware now it has to be perfect for me to go out on that limb," adding “The role had virtually no dancing, no humor. I'm proud of what I did … but I think what they wanted was somebody above the title with Raúl. The show is all him, and he's so extraordinary in it, but what he needs around him is not just someone to get them in the seats. I felt fenced [in] through the whole thing, but I learned it's better to have learned that out of town."

When Leap of Faith opened on Broadway at the St. James Theatre on April 26, 2012, Ashford was no longer the director/choreographer. Christopher Ashley had taken over the reins, with Sergio Trujillo providing the choreography, and Jessica Phillips assuming the role of Marla. Cercone’s book was revised by Warren Leight, tightening the story and attempting to find more places for humor, among the key changes made. The final result of Menken’s and Slater’s efforts was a score inspired by gospel, country, and American roots music. Critics failed to mention much about it in the reviews, other than to suggest it was lackluster. Leap of Faith was a step outside the box for Menken, not in his usual style of soaring ballads and vibrant, earworm chorus numbers. This score revealed a more serious side to his musical storytelling, something that felt as though it was intentionally avoiding that “Disney” sound. Still, there were a handful of numbers that served the production well, including the hymn-like title song that morphed into an inspirational gospel number about embracing one’s potential to do positive things with one’s life. Also of note were the sly “Fox in the Henhouse,” a twangy introduction to Marla’s skepticism over Jonas’s motives, and “Jonas’s Soliloquy,” an intense tour de force reflection for Jonas as he comes to terms with the life he has led and the direction he will take. The book was more viciously savaged by the press, the story accused of being steeped in clichés, predictable, and confusing without being very interesting. What most critics agreed kept the show from being a total snooze was Esparza’s dynamic performance as Jonas Nightingale, a shifty, sly, often humorous characterization that softened as the story progressed. Remarkably, Leap of Faith received only one Tony Award nomination for, of all things, Best Musical. How does a musical get nominated in such a category and receive no other nods? It was a relatively lean season and most thought the Tony committee nominated Leap of Faith to round out the category. It didn’t win. Leap of Faith closed on May 13, 2012 after 20 performances and the loss of its entire $14 million investment. Future productions are uncertain. What it will be remembered for most is as one of the rare times that Alan Menken couldn’t quite muster his usual melodic magic.

Eleven years after the death of Fred Ebb, his lyrics for a “new” musical were heard on Broadway in The Visit. It was Ebb’s third posthumous musical, following Curtains and The Scottsboro Boys, and the fifteenth Kander and Ebb Broadway show. It is an impressive track record for the modern musical theatre. More impressive, many of those musicals were daring, uncompromising, and fearless. The Visit is one of them. And, like most brave ventures, it didn’t make a cent. From the very start, the creators of The Visit knew that a musical based on Friedrich Düerrenmatt’s 1956 revenge drama was not going to be a crowd pleaser. When the play was first presented on Broadway in 1958, it only ran because of the star power and magnetic performances by Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. Productions since have been limited runs by ambitious theatre companies. Consider the plot: The German town of Güllen is bankrupt but the mayor and the citizens see a ray of hope when the multi-millionaire Claire Zachanassian announces that she is coming for a visit. Claire was born in Güllen but left as a young woman and has since amassed a fortune by marrying well (and often) and investing wisely. She arrives at the train station with her entourage (two eunuchs and a blind butler) and an empty coffin. She is eagerly greeted by the townspeople and Claire wastes no time is declaring that she will give the desperate town a billion Swiss francs. But there is a condition. Years ago the local businessman Anton Schill seduced her, got her pregnant, abandoned her, and then produced false witnesses when Claire brought him to court with a paternity suit. She was forced to leave Güllen in disgrace and has never forgiven Anton. Claire is willing to give the town the money if someone will kill Anton. Of course the mayor and the townspeople are horrified at such a deal and consider themselves too civilized for such a revenge tactic. Claire says she will wait and as time passes Anton gets paranoid as his fellow citizens start to consider the proposition. To add to the complexity of the situation, Anton and Claire still love each other in an odd sort of way. This turns Anton’s wife and family against him. Anton tries to flee town but is stopped. Finally a town meeting is held and the citizens vote to accept Claire’s offer. As they surround Anton to kill him, he dies of a heart attack. Claire gives the mayor the money and leaves Güllen with Anton’s body in the coffin. The Visit has been seen as a metaphor for many things, particularly the revenge on fellow Germans who must pay for past war crimes.

The plot and character details vary in different translations and adaptations of the German play (the musical, for example, is set in Brachen) but one cannot disguise the fact that The Visit is not going to become your everyday Broadway musical. All the same, playwright Terrence McNally and songwriters Kander and Ebb were intrigued with the challenge and wrote the musical back in 2000 with Angela Lansbury contracted to play Claire. A production directed by Frank Galati, choreographed by Ann Reinking, and co-starring Philip Bosco as Anton was slated to open on Broadway in 2001. Things fell apart when Lansbury’s husband Peter Shaw became terminally ill and she withdrew from the project. The same creative team was reassembled later in 2001 with Chita Rivera as Claire and John McMartin as Anton and The Visit was presented at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago. New York producers were invited to see the production with the hopes of it going to Broadway. But the terrorists attacks on September 11, 2001, cut off all air travel and few of the Broadway money people saw the show. An Off-Broadway production with Rivera and Frank Langella was planned for the Public Theatre in 2003 but financial difficulties forced its cancellation. Ebb died in 2004 but Kander and McNally pressed on and there was a mounting in 2008 at the Signature Theatre in Arlington, Virginia, with Rivera again playing Claire but this time opposite George Hearn as Anton. A concert version of The Visit was presented in the Ambassador Theatre on Broadway in 2011 as a benefit for the Actors Fund. Rivera’s co-star on this occasion was John Cullum. By this time many producers had seen The Visit but were wary of bringing it to Broadway. That was until a totally new production was done at the Williamstown Theatre Festival in Massachusetts in the summer of 2014. Director John Doyle took a new approach to the material, adding flashbacks that showed the young Claire and Anton, and staging The Visit as a surreal nightmare with a dark sense of humor at times. He also cut the musical down to an intermission-less 100 minutes. There was not a great deal of dancing but the musical staging by Graciela Daniele was potent. Rivera was still Claire and her Anton was Roger Rees with such supporting players as Judy Kuhn, David Garrison, Jason Danieley, Michelle Veintimilla, Rick Holmes, and Diana DiMarzio. The critical and audience reception was strong enough that The Visit was finally, after fifteen years, on its way to Broadway.

Word was out that The Visit was not a musical comedy and that Chita Rivera (now eighty-two years old) was not going to be doing a lot of dancing. So there was not a sizable advance when The Visit opened on April 23, 2015, at the mid-sized Lyceum Theatre. With only a few cast changes, it was the stunning Williamstown production that Broadway saw. Rivera was mesmerizing as Claire. Rees, who was seriously ill and eventually had to drop out of the production, was dramatically powerful but his singing voice was weak. (Rees died in July of 2015.) The supporting cast was top-notch and Doyle’s staging was masterful. Recreated from Williamstown were the decaying train station-like set by Scott Pask, the sometimes masquerade-like costumes by Ann Hould-Ward, and its eerie lighting by Japhy Weidman. The critics were divided yet all found something to admire in The Visit. Some reviews were raves and thought the show heads above the rest of the offerings that season. As the Associated Press put it, “the adults have finally shown up.” Rivera was unanimously cheered by the press and public. When Claire tells Anton about her past and concludes, “I’m unkillable,” the words resonated; Rivera was once again the indestructible Broadway star. One aspect of The Visit that the critics paid too little attention to was the score. While there were some Germanic touches that recalled Cabaret, such as a slow, ominous oom-pah-pah waltz theme, many of the songs were in the conventional Broadway style but often in a minor key. Backed by her two eunuchs, Claire explains how she became so wealthy with the sardonic “I Walk Away.” “You, You, You” is a flowing quartet for the young and adult Claire and Anton. “Yellow Shoes” is a catchy number about the greed of the townspeople as they anticipate the wealth Claire will bring them. Most haunting is “Love and Love Alone,” Claire’s melancholy waltz about the fleeting nature of young love. There are some expositional numbers and a few are downright bizarre, such as the “Eunuchs’ Testimony” which explains how Claire tracked down the witnesses from the paternity trial and had them castrated and had the judge blinded; all three are now in her employ and singing about how happy they are to serve her. The score is Kander and Ebb at their most audacious and most confident. The Visit was equally bold and uncompromising. Although it was nominated for five Tonys, including Best Musical, it could not find an audience and closed inside of eight weeks. But the people who created and presented The Visit knew what they were up against and must have been proud of what they brought to Broadway. The adults had indeed arrived.