Just ended at the Altarena Playhouse in Alameda, CA
The great joy and payoff in little theater (Community, if you must) is that you will discover great talents that you can easily imagine handling their parts on the boards of Broadway. And the vast majority of them will never make it there, if even they try.
At 1409 High Street in charming Alameda, I am, case in point, talking about a young actor named Nico Jaochico, cast in the role of Joey Evans. Did I see a star rising at 1409? This guy, on the hefty side and yet remarkably light on his dancing feet, won me over with his ingratiating showmanship and powerful vocals, playing the part in a production that stays true to the original 1940 show — how revolutionary!
Gene Kelly originated the role in the daring-for-its time Rodgers & Hart work, and yet I’m not so sure that I would have liked Kelly more than Nico. Okay, for dancing, yes. But as for character? You see, our charmer-in-chief has a way of widening has face to practically reach all three sides of Altarena’s three quarter round audience – and sending out a sly glint of spoofery in his eyes. As if to say, let’s not take this too seriously, but kick it around a little and have some fun, okay? Such that, I ended up rooting more for the actor than the character. In a Pal Joey world, that’s a good thing.
In the role, Nico as Joey begins by pitching his borderline M.C. talents to a small south end Chicago club owner, Mike Spears; played here in a manner weak on character, by Charles Evans, which gets the show off to a wobbly start. Nico then briefly romances sweet Linda English with the score’s one sweet song, I could Write a Book; and from there, advances onto Vera Simpson’s bank account. She, a jaded, technically married dame from upper society, sets Joey up with his own night club, and is rewarded with his company, leaving her blissfully “bewitched, bothered, and bewildered ... horizontally speaking, he’s at his very best.” But the spell has a short expiration date. Never have I heard the song sung so compellingly as it was here by the perfectly cast Maria Mikeyenko.
In Act II, a riotously amusing mobster, essayed to the hilt by Don Kolodny, moves in to engineer a bribe. They’ll ask Vera for lots of money, and if she says no, tip off her hubby to the affair – now languishing on a stale mattress that no longer squeaks sweetly.
Romance, finis
Your chance, finis
Those ants that invaded your pants, finis
In the end, all of these morally-challenged rascals will go their separate ways. Funny, I felt a rare affection and sadness for them all. The party was over. Only was virtuous Linda Evans still fostering a good feeling and face for Joey. But he is left alone.
The score is a treasure, loaded with high energy songs that pop the champagne on aberrant sophistication Had there not been a Joey, would there have been a Chicago? When Pal Joey opened in 1940, it was remembered by Richard Rodgers for leaving the audience half raving, half in shock. "Bewitched" was banned from the airwaves for a time. A musical that vulgar? Yes, The critics loved it.
Truth is, it was never close to a major hit drawing large sustaining crowds. The original production lasted nearly a year, the much admired 1952 revival a few months longer. Three since then have all begged for customers, hanging on from one week to a few months. All come to town peddling “new” scripts that only muck up an essentially naughty and uncomplicated little romp.
How lucky I was to have seen THIS particular romp.
Credit the smartly faithful direction of Laura Morgan staying true to the original book, with rare exceptions: The song, “I’m Talkin’ to my Pal,” was cut before the show opened in New York. And Altarena dropped a song that did make it all the way to opening night. "Happy Hunting."
Any qualms? Pacing sometimes errs in drawn out and/or stagey set changes. I was so enthralled with the expedience, I may have overlooked other flaws.
The cast fairly bubbles, with sprightly dancer Jarusha Ariel playing Gladys in the lead. Boffo! A six piece band, with outstanding musical direction by pianist Armando Fox, excels to the finish line. I sat there mesmerized by the raw brilliance of those witty and worldly songs. More musicals, please, Altarena!
The only other stage Joey I can compare this one to, albeit via You Tube, was a morose, creaky revival in 2008, enslaved in yet another lugubrious new libretto, at the Roundabout in New York. "In mourning for its own lifelessness," reviewed The New York Times. It clucked on for ten listless weeks. I had to force myself to sit through the gloomy affair, more reason to cherish Altarena’s gift. The fidelity of its staging must mark a high point in Bay Area musical theater history.
Little theater can be very big.
