Reviewed 1/13/06
There are two ways to successfully mount Walton Jones’ nostalgic The 1940’s Radio Hour. One involves subtlety, letting the realism of the situation underplay the ironically chosen music so that the audience involves themselves and feel like their in on the character development and the subsequent jokes that arise from their interaction. Then there’s the Phoenix Theatre way, which director Robert Kolby Harper knows quite well; keep it big, keep it broad, make it an experience to observe. The Phoenix Theatre audience likes to be razzle-dazzled, to be bamboozled, and to be handed their laughter. It is this choice, equally appropriate in presenting this show that Harper offers, and the result is an evening of big laughs, broad characterizations, and a little wistfulness at the very end.
All the details are carefully considered, from the vintage posters that adorn the dirty walls of Paul Sanderaud’s slightly seedy Algonquin Room in New York’s Astor Hotel through Harper’s perky period choreography that everyone makes look good, to Cari Smith’s time machine-accurate costumes. Though it is supposed to take place over an hour, plus a few minutes on each side, the show runs over 90 minutes without intermission, so those with weak bladders prepare. Harper’s pacing is fast without being rushed, and his blocking accentuates the cramped quarters of this 40s era radio soundstage.
The show starts
before the lights dim, with a lot of pratfalls from Bryan Madden as
the ambitious and klutzy delivery boy Wally as he aids and hampers stage door
Pops (Ben Stewart) and stage manager Lou (Christian
Miller). The singers and musicians arrive under the watchful eye of
producer/emcee Clifton (Jim Roehr), and the intricate relationships
are established in the harried rush leading up to going “on the air.” Frontman
and Sinatra-clone Johnny Cantone (Stuart Ambrose) is a polarizing
influence, flirting with the young and impressionable Connie (Tori
Sanchez) and making her beau BJ (Phillip Fazio) jealous.
Uptight comedian Neal (Brian Runbeck) dreams of becoming the
crooner, while bluesy Ann (Orgena Rose) is the free spirit
driving the show. Dingy Ginger (Sarah Wolter) is a great source
of dumb redhead jokes and intense singing, while pianist Zoot (Jonathan
Ivie) is the quiet center who keeps the show from tumbling.
Understanding that Harper’s concept is not about shading, all of these actors do an excellent job of handing the audience their laughs. All skate the edge of being overt with only a few trips, such as Roehr’s over-the-top pre-show speech and Wolter’s double dip into the orgasm bag. Despite these and a few other minor missteps, the remainder of the action is quite funny. No one stands out more or less, and this is another example of a balanced ensemble. Stewart is an endearing coot, Miller is always one step ahead of mayhem. Ambrose does the hard job of becoming believably snockered, and Fazio does the hard job of remaining loveably innocent. Roehr’s character rises to a sparkling status after his meltdown, and Wolter is a constant source of offhand silliness. Sanchez is a singing and dancing sensation, while Rose’s voice is a standout. It is Runbeck who is the most affected by the concept, hamming up his cluelessness but just enough. All are great hoofers and singers, and the show couldn’t have been better cast.
Ivie seems a bit uncomfortable in the spotlight, although he does an excellent job with the strong onstage band. As an integral part of the group, all the band members capture that unique WWII big band sound.
This is yet another case of Phoenix Theatre doing what it does best. For an evening of ballads and belly laughs, there’s nothing currently running that works as well as this fun production.
