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Broadway Musical Review—“Death Becomes Her” with Megan Hilty, Jennifer Simard and Christopher Sieber

Death Becomes Her
Book by Marco Pennette; music and lyrics by Julia Mattison & Noel Carey
Directed and choreographed by Christopher Gattelli
Opened November 21, 2024
Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, 205 West 46th Street, NYC
deathbecomesher.com
 
Megan Hilty and Jennifer Simard in Death Becomes Her (photo: Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman)
 
In the far too crowded field of movies turned into Broadway musicals—something going on for decades to diminishing returns—Death Becomes Her is a piece of frivolous fun that neither slavishly imitates the original nor strays too far from the beaten path. If it’s not as outrageously sly as it could be, it does provide consistent entertainment, which is nothing to sneeze at.
 
I barely remember Robert Zemeckis’ black comedy, which I saw way back in 1992. All I remember is the indelible image of Meryl Streep, as bitchy movie star Madeline Ashton, having her head spun around, Exorcist-style, while catfighting with her nemesis, longtime friend Helen Sharp, played by Goldie Hawn. Bruce Willis was also on hand as Ernest Menville, the nerdy plastic surgeon who leaves Helen for Madeline and becomes the vessel for their attempts at immortality.
 
The musical follows that plotline, with a few detours that give Broadway audiences what they came to see, like the big, campy opening number, “For the Gaze” (get it?), in which Madeline—now a musical theater star who’s on the road, touring middle America—and her dancers demonstrate how campiness is a huge draw onstage. 
 
Here and elsewhere, the music-and-lyrics team of Julia Mattison and Noel Carey admit they’re aiming at the lowest common denominator; the laughs are plentiful throughout if hardly gutbusting. The amusement scale fluctuates between the genuinely tart dialogue between the two friends as Madeline is in the process of stealing Ernest from Helen and the ridiculous scene where a nervous Ernest, plied by drink pre-immortal op, is serenaded by his entire basement study in the dopey number, “The Plan.”
 
The original film introduced the immortality subplot through an enigmatic socialite, Lisle von Rhuman, played by Isabella Rossellini; for the stage musical, Lisle has become a more shadowy figure, Viola Van Horn, played by Michelle Williams, who alternates between stiffness and sultriness. Another difference from the movie is that, onstage, Madeline has an assistant, Stefon, who, as played by Josh Lamon, gets many big laughs with his continued carping commentary on what’s happening.
 
Mattison and Carey’s serviceable songs get us from scene to scene without unduly overstaying their welcome; likewise Marco Pennette’s book, even if there’s an inevitable letdown when the show drags at the end, tacking on a couple of superfluous numbers. But it’s all been cleverly directed and choreographed by Christopher Gatelli, and the physical production—Justin Townsend’s savvy lighting, Paul Tazewell’s sparkling costumes, Derek McLane’s sharp sets and Peter Hylenski’s skillful sound design—is impressive. 
 
It goes without saying that the two leads give master classes in how to overact and oversing perfectly in character: Jennifer Simard (Helen) and Megan Hilty (Madeline), pros at being divas, have such a grand time that their battle royale is infectious. Christopher Sieber makes Ernest more sympathetic and funnier than Bruce Willis was in the movie, so much so that Death Becomes Her becomes as much a vehicle for the stalwart Sieber as for the scintillating Simard and hilarious Hilty.

Shakespeare & Dvořák with the New York Philharmonic

Daniele Rustioni, photo by Chris Lee

At Lincoln Center’s superior David Geffen Hall, on the night of Thursday, January 9th, I had the privilege to attend another excellent concert—amidst a strong season—presented by the New York Philharmonic, under the distinguished direction of Daniele Rustioni, who debuted with the ensemble with these performances.

The event began brilliantly with one of its highlights, i.e., a sterling account of Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s marvelous, seldom played Overture to The Merchant of Venice, from 1933, after the famous play by William Shakespeare, who—according to the useful program note by Jack Sullivan—was the composer’s “favorite author.” Sullivan adds that he “wrote some 200 film scores, including Gaslight, And Then There Were None, and The Picture of Dorian Gray.” And further, that “He joined the faculty of the Los Angeles Conservatory of Music, becoming an influential teacher who had a huge impact on American music: among his pupils were John Williams, Henry Mancini, Nelson Riddle, André Previn, and Jerry Goldsmith.” And finally:

He composed 11 Shakespeare overtures over a span of two decades, including The Taming of the Shrew, Twelfth Night, Julius Caesar, Coriolanus, The Winter's Tale, A Midsummer Night's Dream, As You Like It, Much Ado About Nothing, King John, and Antony and Cleopatra. He called these “the overtures to operas I will never compose,” though in the late 1950s he did write two Shakespeare operas, All's Well That Ends Well and The Merchant of Venice.

The brilliant and celebrated soloist Joshua Bell then entered the stage for an impressive account of Antonín Dvořák’s rewarding Violin Concerto in A minor, Op. 53, an undervalued work even if it is surpassed in greatness by the composer’s extraordinary Cello Concerto. Annotator James M. Keller provides a detailed background of its genesis:

He wrote it at the instigation of violinist Joseph Joachim, who had played the premiere of Brahms's Violin Concerto on New Year's Day, 1879. After composing the concerto in the late summer of that same year, Dvořák promptly sent it to Joachim, who responded appreciatively and promised that he was “looking forward to inspecting soon, con amore, your work.” In early April 1880 Joachim finally invited Dvořák to meet with him in Berlin, after which the composer embarked on a thorough revision. On May 9 Dvořák wrote to [his publisher Fritz] Simrock (who was eager to be informed of what was going on with the piece):

According to Mr. Joachim's wish I revised the whole Concerto and did not leave a single bar untouched. He will certainly be pleased by that. The whole work will now receive a new face. I kept the themes and added a few new ones, but the whole conception of the work is different. Harmony, orchestration, rhythm — all the development is new. I shall finish it as soon as possible and send it to Mr. Joachim immediately.

This Dvořák did, and there the piece sat again, this time for more than two years. Finally, on August 14, 1882, Joachim dropped a note to the composer:

Recently I made use of some spare time I had to revise the violin part of your Concerto and to make some of the passages, which were too difficult to perform, easier for the instrument. For even though the whole proves that you know the violin very well, from some single details it may still be seen that you yourself have not played for some time. While making this revision I was pleased by the many true beauties of your work, which will be a pleasure for me to perform. Saying this with the utmost sincerity, I may — without the danger of being misunderstood — confess that I still do not think the Violin Concerto in its present shape to be ripe for the public, especially because of its orchestral accompaniment, which is still rather heavy. I should prefer you to find this out by yourself by playing the work with me.

In mid-September 1882 Dvořák accordingly traveled again to Berlin to consult with Joachim, returning two months later for an orchestral reading. Quite a few changes inevitably followed, mostly involving small cuts and lightened orchestration. Simrock's adviser Robert Keller also attended the orchestral run-through and added his two cents, arguing that the first two movements, which Dvořák had laid out as a single, essentially connected span, should be separated entirely. At this Dvořák drew the line. To Simrock he wrote on December 16, 1882:

You know that I esteem this man and can appreciate him, but this time he went too far. The first movement would be too short and cannot be complete in itself: it would be necessary to add a third part and to this — sincerely speaking — I am not inclined. Therefore: first and second movement without any changes, some cuts in the third movement where the main motif in A major appears.

After all this, Joachim did not end up introducing the piece, notwithstanding his involvement in its difficult birth and the fact that his name remained at the head of the score as its dedicatee. The honor of the premiere went instead to František Ondřiček, who went on to premiere it also in Vienna and London and who became the work's most ardent champion. It seems that Joachim never played the piece in public.

The initial, Allegro ma non troppo movement, which opens with a lyrical statement of the primary theme, is largely affirmative and melodious with dramatic and passionate moments, while the ensuing Adagio ma non troppo is song-like and Romantic and closes quietly. The Finale—marked Allegrogiocoso, ma non troppo—is a rondo the principal theme of which is a furiant, a Bohemian folk dance, and a central interlude is a dumka, a Slavonic folk dance; jaunty—even exuberant—and virtuosic, the movement concludes triumphantly. Enthusiastic applause elicited a wonderful encore from Bell, accompanied by harpist Nancy Allen: an arrangement of Frédéric Chopin’s lovely Nocturne in C-sharp.

The second half of the evening was even more remarkable: a magnificent realization of Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s fabulous Symphony No. 4 in F minor, Op. 36. About it, to his pupil and friend the eminent composer Sergei Taneyev, Tchaikovsky wrote: 

Of course my symphony is program music, but it would be impossible to give the program in words. … But ought this not always to be the case with a symphony, the most lyrical of musical forms? Ought it not to express all those things for which words cannot be found but which nevertheless arise in the heart and cry out for expression?

In a letter from the late summer of 1877 to his patroness Nadezhda von Meck, he wrote:

Our symphony progresses. The first movement will give me a great deal of trouble with respect to orchestration. It is very long and complicated: at the same time I consider it the best movement. The three remaining movements are very simple, and it will be easy and pleasant to orchestrate them.

In another letter to von Meck, he described the opening movement:

The introduction is the seed of the whole symphony, undoubtedly the central theme. This is Fate, i.e., that fateful force which prevents the impulse toward happiness from entirely achieving its goal, forever on jealous guard lest peace and well-being should ever be attained in complete and unclouded form, hanging above us like the Sword of Damocles, constantly and unremittingly poisoning the soul. Its force is invisible, and can never be overcome. Our only choice is to surrender to it, and to languish fruitlessly. … When all seems lost, there appears a sweet and gentle daydream. Some blissful, radiant human image hurries by and beckons us away. … No! These were dreams, and fate wakes us from them. Thus all life is an unbroken alternation of harsh reality with fleeting dreams and visions of happiness … There is no escape. … We can only drift upon this sea until it engulfs and submerges us in its depths. That, roughly, is the program of the first movement.

The movement starts with a stirring fanfare that recurs throughout it, but much of it has a lugubrious quality, although there are lighter passages that alternate with more emotionally charged ones; it finishes forcefully. The second movement, marked Andantino in modo di canzona, is charming but also melancholic, with a beautiful main theme; it increases in intensity, ending softly. The brief Scherzo, an Allegro, is not unexpectedly more playful, even ebullient. The Allegro con fuoco Finale has a brash beginning and is dynamic in the extreme, although with more subdued interludes; it ultimately builds to an exhilarating—even extravagant—climax.

The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.

New York Philharmonic Play Dmitri Shostakovich

Keri-Lynn Wilson directing the New York Philharmonic. Photo by Chris Lee

At Lincoln Center’s excellent David Geffen Hall, on the night of Thursday, December 5th, I had the considerable pleasure to attend a fabulous concert of Soviet orchestral music presented by the New York Philharmonic under the very impressive direction of Keri-Lynn Wilson, in her debut with this ensemble.

The event started superbly with a dazzling account of Dmitri Shostakovich irresistible and irrepressible Festive Overture, Op. 96, from 1954. The orchestra’s concertmaster, Frank Huang, then entered the stage for a highly creditable performance of Sergei Prokofiev’s incomparable Violin Concerto No. 2 in G minor, Op. 63, from 1935. In his Short Autobiography from 1939-41, the composer wrote about it as follows:

Reflecting my nomadic concertizing experience the concerto was written in the most diverse countries: the main subject of the first movement was written in Paris, the first theme of the second movement in Voronezh, the instrumentation was completed in Baku, and the premiere took place in December of 1935 in Madrid. 

In his useful notes for this program, James M. Keller provides some relevant background on the work:

Prokofiev had already been amassing sketches for some vaguely imagined violin piece when he was approached by some admirers of the French-Belgian violinist Robert Soëtens, who asked for a concerto that their friend might premiere and to which he would maintain exclusive performance rights for a year. Soëtens, a devoted champion of new music, had previously joined with Samuel Dushkin to present the premiere, in 1932, of Prokofiev's Sonata for Two Violins, and Prokofiev was eminently disposed toward providing a follow-up piece. Jascha Heifetz started programming it immediately after Soëtens's year expired, and the concerto has been a staple of the repertoire ever since. Prokofiev initially thought of titling the piece Concert Sonata for Violin and Orchestra, but by the time he finished his composition he gave up that unnecessary complication and called it simply Violin Concerto No. 2, his Violin Concerto No. 1 having been premiered a dozen years earlier. 

The initial, Allegro moderato opens solemnly, even lugubriously—with a theme that returns later on in the movement—and then quickly becomes agitated; much of this movement has an inward quality but it becomes more extroverted, even jaunty, as the tempo accelerates and then becomes recurringly lyrical with numerous, diverse developments before ending quietly and unexpectedly. The second movement, which is a model of elegance, is restrained and also song-like, lovely but not without a playfulness that intensifies; it concludes softly as well. The Allegro ben marcato finale is more forceful if also ludic, even eccentric; it becomes more energetic and then closes abruptly.

The second half of the evening was at least equally memorable: a stunning realization of Shostakovich’s extraordinary  

Symphony No. 10 in E minor, Op. 93, from 1953, performed alongside a screening of what appeared to be a distinguished film—commissioned by the Luzerner Sinfonieorchester and first screened on June 15, 2022, in Lucerne, Switzerland—by the South African artist William Kentridge, who several years ago notably directed and designed a striking Metropolitan Opera production of the composer’s The Nose, after the famous story by Nikolai Gogol, starring Paulo Szot. In May 2022, the filmmaker had this to say about his creation:

The key task … is to find something that does not turn the symphony into film music — a series of images and narratives that overwhelm the music itself; nor to have something that … runs simply as a series of anodyne backdrops. But the story of Shostakovich and his complicated relationship to the state in the Soviet Union … provides the material for thinking visually about the trajectory that Shostakovich had to follow, from the early days of the Soviet Union to the writing of the symphony. This is a retrospective look at … four decades … from the perspective of 1953, when both Stalin died and the first performance of the symphony was presented. In the 1920s there was the death of Lenin; in the 1930s the suicide of Mayakovsky; in the 1940s, the assassination of Trotsky; in the 1950s the death of Stalin — and here we are, almost 70 years later. The report that remains of these decades is in the music of Shostakovich, the one who against expectation got away, and survived. The film is set inside what appears to be an abandoned Soviet museum, which in fact is made of cardboard, on the table in the artist's studio …. Using a miniature camera, we move through the different halls of the museum, which also include a community theater hall, a public swimming pool, a quarry at the side of the main halls of the museum. A corridor of vitrines holding stuffed historical figures. Intertitles in the film are from various sources, but the main source are the plays and poems of Vladimir Mayakovsky — who in the early years following the revolution was an enthusiastic supporter of the Soviet project. But as the years passed and the hopes of the revolution receded, he grew increasingly disillusioned. In 1930 he shot himself. … The central characters of the film are Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin; Shostakovich and his student Elmira Nazirova (about which there are different theories regarding her relationship with Shostakovich and the 10th Symphony and whether her name is embedded into some of the key signatures of the symphony); and Mayakovsky and his lover, Lilya Brik. These characters appear as puppets, but are also performed by actors inside of puppets. The form is one of collage, and the larger proposition is that one needs to understand history as a form of collage. The artistic medium is a way of thinking about the historical events. The task of the project is to try to show within the visual film some of the ambiguities Shostakovich had to negotiate … in all the work that he made. We have to find a way to both acknowledge the independence of the music — that it exists now in the post-Soviet era (we can still feel the emotional journey of the symphony, independent of its historical moorings), but at the same time acknowledge the particular character of the era from which it comes.

About the music, the annotator records the following:

Shostakovich began his Symphony No. 10 only a few months after Stalin's death. Or perhaps earlier; the pianist Tatyana Nikolaeva, one of his confidants, insisted that the symphony — and unquestionably its first movement — dated from 1951, and that the piece, like so many others, was withheld until after Stalin's passing. The symphony scored a notable success at its premiere as well as at follow-up performances in Moscow.

The first, Moderato movement begins very gravely and slowly becomes more animated but no less serious; it builds to a powerful climax before reverting to a subdued manner. The ensuing, very brief Allegro is urgent and propulsive while the succeeding Allegretto is weighty and sober but becomes more insistent and dramatic although it closes gently. The finale too is stark in outlook at its outset but turns livelier with some jocular inflections before concluding rousingly and affirmatively. The artists were enthusiastically applauded, deservedly.

January '25 Digital Week IV

In-Theater Releases of the Week 
Swept Away… 
(Kino Lorber Repertory)
In Italian director Lina Wertmuller’s simultaneously hilarious and sad battle of the sexes, Giancarlo Giannini and Mariangela Melato are at their most bracingly explosive as Gennarino, a Communist worker from the south, and Rafaella, a rich capitalist from the north, who find themselves stranded on a deserted Mediterranean island, where their roles are reversed, as sexual politics takes the upper hand in a mordantly uncomfortable showdown.
 
 
Wertmuller’s next film—the unforgettable Seven Beauties—is her masterpiece, but this 1974 black comedy (whose full title, Swept Away by an Unusual Destiny in the Blue Sea of August, is a typically expansive Wertmuller description) shows the director at the height of her considerable powers, unafraid to dissect human behavior, however foolish or self-contradictory, in a masterly fashion.
 
 
 
No Other Land 
(Antipode Films)
Made by a collective of Palestinian and Israeli filmmakers, this difficult-to-watch Oscar-nominated documentary harrowingly shows how activist Basel Adra, alongside others in his community, fights to save his village, Masafer Yatta, from the Israeli occupation in the West Bank. While recording soldiers blithely destroying his and his neighbors’ homes, Adra becomes friends with Yuval Abraham, an Israeli journalist who takes up the villagers’ cause.
 
 
The film follows the encroaching occupation over a five-year period, while the unspoken but ever-present subtext is that, despite working together, there’s a huge chasm between Abraham, who can come and go as he pleases, and Adra, who deals with a military presence on a daily basis. Adra and Abraham, with Jamdan Ballal and Rachel Szor, have created an enlightened piece of journalistic advocacy.
 
 
 
Inheritance 
(IFC Films)
This globe-trotting espionage thriller is director/cowriter Neil Burger’s attempt at a Steven Soderbergh flick: shot mostly with a jittery handheld camera by ace cinematographer Jackson Hunt, the drama follows a young woman, Maya, reunited with her distant father after her mom’s death, who discovers what he’s really been up to on his foreign travels. She soon finds herself embroiled as well, in a world where lives are not valuable.
 
 
Phoebe Dynevor plays Maya with an initial naivete that morphs into a hardened shell of determination; she even sells the on-the-nose final scene that explains the title. Burger keeps things moving swiftly over many plotholes, and Rhys Ifans provides solid support as Maya’s shady dad.
 
 
 
Blu-ray Releases of the Week
Vixen 
(Severin)
The first of big-boob purveyor Russ Meyer’s vixen films, made in 1968, is both the rawest and most ragged as well as the most straightforward and honest, tackling female sexuality, sexism and even racism. In the title role, Erica Gavin, was one of Meyer’s greatest finds, and she plays the irrepressible Vixen to the hilt.
 
 
The film has been restored and looks good and grainy in hi-def; extras include commentaries by Meyer and Gavin, interviews with Gavin and actor Harrison Page, vintage TV interview of Meyer and Yvette Vickers, and a censorship featurette.
 
 
 
Supervixens 
Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens 
(Severin)
Two more films in Russ Meyer’s “vixen” series are an embarrassment of riches, so to speak, that  are a greatest hits grab bag of jiggly T&A (and occasionally more); 1975’s Supervixens, at 105 minutes, goes on too long, while 1979’s Beneath the Valley, cowritten by reviewer Roger Ebert, is the silliest yet. Meyer always found appealing newcomers to populate his filmic fantasies: Supervixens stars Shari Eubank, who never appeared in another film, and Uschi Digard, while Beneath the Valley features Kitten Natividad, Uschi Digard, Ann Marie, June Mack and Candy Samples.
 
 
Both restored films have excellent hi-def transfers; extras include Meyer commentaries, interviews with Meyer, Natividad and actor Charles Napier, vintage Meyer TV appearance, 1979 Meyer interview by Tuscon talk show host Ellen Adelstein and a new Adelstein interview.
 
 
 
No Home Movie 
(Icarus Films)
Belgian director Chantal Akerman’s suicide in 2015 came directly following the death of her beloved mother, and the director’s poignant if meandering final documentary explores that relationship in depth. Akerman’s mother Natalia was a Holocaust survivor who was always the daughter’s reservoir of strength, which is shown in the many conversations between them, both in person and via Skype.
 
 
Although the film, like so many others by Akerman, wears out its welcome before it ends, its tragic real-life epilogue gives it a gravitas missing from much of her oeuvre. A bonus film, I Don’t Belong Anywhere: The Cinema of Chantal Akerman, is Marianne Lambert’s documentary portrait of the director, centered around illuminating interviews; both films look good on Blu.

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