End Broadway season, ready SpectacularIn my opinion, this is the most descriptive word timely, This endless exhibition new musical follows the late singer-dancer and composer Bobby Darin, who lived quickly in 1973 and died in a ridiculous young 37-year-old, especially Jonathan Groff’s sensational core performance. Groff won last year's Tony Award for Stephen Sondheim's musical revival We rolled happily, Therefore, he is already a star, but none of them can rest in the old laurels. It's easy to be the handsomest, most versatile and attractive multiple values to illuminate the stage since Hugh Jackman, and there seems to be nothing he can do about it Just in time He almost did it all – front and back, back and upside down. Joyful and exciting, he combines Gene Kelly's outstanding athleticism with Bob Fosse's sexual desire. The show, like a show on a rocket launched by Alex Timbers, did more than the real Bobby Darin, who rarely pauses and inhales long enough. Arguing, jumping, jumping, flirting, without a particular gender preference, breaking the sound barrier, he takes the stage and sings Steve Allen's famous swing song “This May Be the Beginning of Big Things” and you'd better believe it.
To provide him with the space he needed to fill the New York circle in the square, the theater has been reorganized, revised and redesigned, and a full nightclub stage at one end, enough to accommodate a full jazz band, a smaller, smaller, large stage at the other end, soloing and independent conversations with the audience. Now, the orchestra is a dance floor with a cabaret that can accommodate 22 listeners and it is recommended to wear raincoats because at the end of the show, the wholesale spit and sweating Groff will love the raincoats. Kleenex reached for it as he sang “Splish Splash.” If you are lucky (or rich) to hold a seat on one of the tables, you will also find yourself part of the show. His gym-ready torso walked through the room, across the table with undulating thighs, gasping and sighing, his screaming clapping began with frustration. Two hours later, you leave the joint and shake. You don't know what hit you, but you know you've been to the theater.
Even better, you were shocked by Jonathan Groff. With him there are singers, dancers and dressed singing girls, but it's almost a solo show and if he misses the show they undoubtedly have to cancel. On the moon imitating Elvis Presley and fat domino, or on beautiful standards like “all” you never know what he will do next. For a minute, a man in a Brooks Brothers suit might find himself sweeping over his arms and hanging Woz on the dance floor. The second minute, a beautiful girl may find herself kissing on her forehead (or elsewhere). He is full of endless action and music, you don't know what to watch or listen to next. It just attacks you at the same time, like the July fireworks at Jones Beach.
If I had any reservations (every critic always did), they centered on the truncated biographical details written by Warren Leight and Isaac Oliver in a jukebox musical, which is more outlined than a story that never really took shape. Categorizing between songs, the frontline doesn't seem to start telling the true story of Bobby Darin, though some reveals the leak. Born Walden Robert Cassotto in East Harlem, he was such a sickly child that after three bouts of rheumatic fever, doctors predicted he would die before the age of 16. Coached by his mom, a former vaudeville singer, he chose the name Darin from the last six letters of a Chinese restaurant called the Mandarin, and preferred good music by renowed songwriters like Johnny Mercer and Hoagy Carmichael to rock and roll, but found his earliest successes imitated rock stars like Elvis Presley and Fats Domino, writing “Splish Splash” (his first sales single), and an automatic box of trash written for his complaining girlfriend Connie Francis. He said no secretly that he loved the romantic French classics of Charles Trenet (“La Mer” and “Beyond the Sea”) and the German legend “Mack the Knife”, Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht from Three-person operaall of which turned into a huge blow under the advice of the manager and the agent.
After his peak of fame, he became a film star in Vegas' headlines and broke the record in Copacabana, New York, who was always his own boss and even spent his own money to record jazz standards with Johnny Mercer. It was a short and tragic life, and another shock, Neigui and fear beat him: his mother turned out to be his sister, his valet was on the way, and the backstage manager turned out to be his stepfather. His fairy tale marriage is related to a technical marriage, and he is with Technicolor All-American movie star Sandra Dee (played by Vapid Erika Henningsen), who was raped by her 8-year-old stepfather who was raped by her own stepfather since she was 8, and her unpopular decline fell into six years without insight (he abandoned for six years (he) she). What is not enough is the convincing psychological analysis of how to become a second-rate Dingdang writer in such a short time to become a legendary idol. Darin’s early romance and what I think is an early romance (which seems to me seriously overrated) teenage dance queen Connie Francis (playing the tricky, tricky Gracie Lawrence). His venture into politics is the suggestion of a folk singer, a bankrupt retreat who lives in the trailer, and it's all here, even if only in the form of a familiar afterword. His second final marriage was completely deleted.
If anything here makes you mistakenly believe me timely, The apology was organized, especially in the presence of Jonathan Groff. He has a lot of work to do and gives everything. He plays the piano. He plays the drum. He sings like a single band, dances sharp and complex choreography, and his sense of humor is fascinating and fascinating. Bring your own worries Just in time. Groff provides eyebrow. One suggestion: His talent is overwhelming. The resulting approval scream is contagious. Bring a lo zenge.
Just in time | 2 hours and 30 minutes; one intermission | Circle in the Square Theater | 1633 Broadway/235 West 50th Street | (212) 307-0388
