We Have To Believe We Are Magic Part Two

This is a continuation of a story I started on my MySpace blog. For part one, please see the link to the MySpace blog in my profile. Thanks. SM

I was reading a book about magic. It wasn't a book about magic tricks; it was a book about black magic. The books about magic tricks had already been observed and now I was onto the real thing. I was going to teach myself to be a witch--a warlock, I had read, was what a boy witch was called. There was much knowledge to be absorbed with regards to the world of magic and I needed to learn it all, in order to fullfill my wish; and I believed that I could learn it, that I could accomplish this minor task and become a practioner of the dark art of magic, though I would have to find a way to make it not be a dark art, to be, what I would soon read, was called a white witch.

I was eight years old.

Literature, film and television were the only friends this little boy could claim throughout most of his existence, up til that point and, indeed, for years beyond that. The fantasy world created for him and by him made for some extremely exciting times. THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE, CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTOR, THE LITTLE WHITE HORSE and THE TALKING PARCEL were repeated reads, while the films that were seen on screens big and small during his formative years were DOCTOR DOLITTLE, CHITTY CHITTY BANG BANG, THE WIZARD OF OZ and BEDKNOBS AND BROOMSTICKS. If these works of art on paper and celluloid were to be believed, then magic was everywhere and could turn up in the most unlikely of places. Who knew when a car driving over a body of water might, suddenly, fly off of the bridge and sprout wings? At any moment a big wind could lift enormous house off of the property in Ohio and catapult us into technicolor? And if the words to the spell could be learned and incanted correctly, the Christmas tree might just sprout feet and begin to walk. There was world of magical possibilites, if only one believed strong enough.

That was me for much of my childhood. Even as I grew into my teens and learned that I would never be able to practice what I had read in those books I had checked out from the library, there was a room in my heart where the little boy lived, watching those mystical movies and reading those supernatural stories, still thinking that anything was possible. Into adulthood, when people asked me to do something for them that seemed impossible, my reply would be "of course I can...didn't you know that I am magic?" And then I would follow mortal avenues to satisfy their request and the people in my life began to believe that I actually WAS magical. I had not learned how to perform true black or white magic--but I HAD learned to do magic tricks. I was able to make the impossible come true by using smoke and mirrors and let the people who witnessed it think that it was theurgical.

I stopped believing, though. Life got me down and I found myself bitter and jaded and unable to believe in magic anymore. I stopped seeing the whimsical side of life, of day to day life. In my heart, there was a crystal box, like the coffin in which Snow White was laid, where the little boy had placed all his belief in magic and that box was opened only when Rachel came out or something truly special was happening on the tv screen--something where the good guys won and the bad people got what they had coming to them. The little crystal box was rarely opened up in the world outside of two-A.

Until recently.

The theater is a magical place where astounding things happen. These days very little magic is happening in the theaters of New York City. I have stopped going to the theater because it is too expensive to go see shows that make me wish I was back in Dallas at the Dallas Children's Theater, where more art is created than on the stages of Broadway. Even with a half price ticket, money is a commodity too precious to waste on the likes of LENNON, RING OF FIRE and GOOD VIBRATIONS. Even shows that aren't just jukebox musicals have left the world (and myself) disillusioned with the level of quality that the Broadway community is presenting. As a grown up with a big, a really big, child living inside of him, I long for the magic and the majesty of the theater that I used to see. Like the magic inside of me that I have lost, I want it back--the magic of the theater. I want it back, badly.

There is nothing majestic about the production of THE TWO AND ONLY. It is a tiny show in a tiny theater with one man and a cast made up of his friends--all ventriloquist's puppets. The majesty, every bit of it, comes in the MAGIC that Jay Johnson creates with his talent and his whimsy. And magic, it is. Sitting in that theater, watching him bring to life all those characters, I felt the lid on the crystal box come open and the little boy, long inside crying "I'm still in here..", poke his head out and begin to laugh...

There is, though, much majesty at the New Amsterdam Theater on 42nd Street. Walking into that glorious edifice, the architecture and the interior design, the reminiscences of theatrical times gone by, a person cannot help but be transported into the past, into an era when theater was an art to be revered...not like it is now, one that people dismiss by talking during the play and answering their cellphones. The decor of that entire arena makes it a whimsical experience before the curtain even rises on MARY POPPINS.

Sitting in my seat in the fourth row, beside my dearest friend, Ken Bloom (who was treating me to the performance of POPPINS), I felt like a child being taken to the theater for the first time. The din of the crowd became a steady flatline in my head, where nothing was discernible, as I gazed up into the mural on the ceiling, high above, losing myself in the muted colours illuminated by the intricate light fixtures of the pile. The safety curtain was a drawing of the home in which the action would take place: a home all children know and love--and, indeed, under the drawing were the words 17 Cherry Tree Lane.

The lid was off the crystal box. Proof of magic was soon to begin.

And magic, it was.

We have, all of us, seen the legendary Disney film MARY POPPINS. We have, most of us, fallen in love with it. We have, all of us, loved Julie Andrews in one film or another. Bringing MARY POPPINS to the stage was a tricky, a risky venture. The producers kept songs from the film (by the Sherman Brothers--not complex like Mr Sondheim but sophisticated in their own way and more human than many a composer of songs for the musical theater/movie) but added new songs by composers George Stiles and Anthony Drewe. In their smartest move, the producers went back to the original source material, the novels by P.L. Travers. The suffragette storyline from the film has been dismissed, as well as greater focus being placed on the parents and their personal problems. Mrs. Banks (played by one of my very favourites, the glorious and gorgeous Rebecca Luker) has some depth and a backstory that might surprise audiences, as does Mr Banks (the delightful Daniel Jenkins), who is shown to have a vulnerability and crippling fears unseen in the character before. There are characters missing from the movie (like Uncle Albert) and new (and welcome) characters introduced by beautiful actors who are staples of the Broadway community, like Ruth Gottschall and Mark Price. And of course there are the characters we remember and love like the birdwoman and Mrs Brill, played by beloved actors Cass Morgan and Jane Carr. It is a lovely cast of talented actors who bring to life a world of watercolour and whimsy, of music and magic, yes, magic.

In order to make the production a success, they HAD to divorce themselves from the movie as much as possible. It would have been difficult for audiences to buy into an exact replica of either the film or of Poppins, herself. By stepping away from the entity that we have all known and loved, they gave themselves a sporting chance at having their audiences see this as a new venture, a new work of art. For example.. Mary Poppins does not slide up the bannister when she first arrives. Neither does she fly in for her first appearance. Oh, I'm not saying that she doesn't fly; I'm not saying that there isn't magic; I'm not even saying that she doesn't slide up the bannister. I'm just saying: when you go to see MARY POPPINS, don't let your mind wander. The magic turns up as unexpectedly as Poppins, herself, does and if you aren't paying you attention, you might miss some magical moment that, catching the last second of, will make you kick yourself for looking down at your Playbill. When Poppins enters the nursery for the first time she doesn't sing SPOONFUL OF SUGAR, she sings a wonderful new song called PRACTICALLY PERFECT. Don't get upset. The song appears in a later scene. The JOLLY HOLIDAY number is still in the story but gone are the cartoon characters, the carousel and the horse race. In its place are other colourful characters and unexpected adventures.

And this is (maybe) what I love most about MARY POPPINS. The creators did not turn the New Amsterdam Theater into an amusement park. There is no chandelier. There is no staircase, no helicopter, no electronic pyrotechnic to bring to life the magic. It is all done with good, old fashioned theatrical technique. The watercolour painting comes to life through sets, costumes, colourful bolts of fabric used in imaginative ways, lighting changes and character development created by actors. There is trickery on the stage but no trickery that I can see isn't completely and absolutely something that could have been created with a little imagination 100 years ago. One hundred years ago Maude Adams played Peter Pan. Peter Pan flew. It would be ridiculous to say that Mary Poppins doesn't fly in the play. Everyone knows she is going to fly--it wouldn't be MARY POPPINS if she didn't. But the magic that makes her fly is not much different, now, than the magic that made PETER PAN fly in 1906. THAT is what I love about MARY POPPINS.

Art, real art, requires limitation. If you are making a movie and the studio gives you 40 million dollars, you can do anything you want. That's when people become lazy. If you are making a movie and the studio gives you 1 million dollars, you have really think about what you are going to do, how to do it within your budget, how to make magic with limited resources. I'm not saying that the producers of MARY POPPINS scrimped on their budget. Indeed, you can see, on the stage, where every penny has gone. The Bob Crowley sets and costumes are beyond extraordinary--in both their simplicities and the complexities. The lighting, the makeup, the choreography (Matthew Bourne!), all of it, every marvelous moment, all led by Richard Eyre in the director's seat, is no more than theatrical artistry. It is knowledgable and reverent craftsmanship at work, rather than an amusement park ride. And THAT is proof that magic still exists.

When you can make a jaded and cynical 42 year old man cry seven times during the course of an evening at the theater, you are an artisan of the highest order.

And cry, they made me do. Every single one of them; but I have to say it--especially did Mary Poppins and Bert make me cry. I didn't know if I would like Ashley Brown. There was much said around the theatrical community about the fact the London's Poppins, Laura Michelle Kelly, would not be doing the show on Broadway, even though the original Bert, Gavin Lee, would. I had seen clips of Kelly on the internet and I had listened to tracks from the cd for a long time. I admit it: I was disappointed that I would not be seeing the original stage Poppins. Well. Shame on me. I am in love with Ashley Brown. She is gorgeous. She is the right combination of stern, humourous, cheeky, playful, strong, feminine and sexy. Ooooh, yeah. Mary Poppins is sexy. There are a couple of moments when she and Bert are alone together that you think he is going to grab her, whisk her up into his arms and carry her up a staircase the way Rhett Butler did to Scarlett O'Hara. Whew! They ARE McSteamy! Oh, and by the way, the girl can sing. I suspect Julie Andrews would be giving Miss Brown three snaps in a Zorro formation, if she were at a performance of MARY POPPINS. And as for Gavin Lee... OF COURSE he had to come to Broadway with this show. Nobody else should play this part. I just don't think anyone could be quite as charming and quite as ruggedly welcoming to an audience. Nobody could dance the way he does, in the places he does, quite so magically. Not for this eight year old.

Oh. I was an eight year old. I sat next to Ken Bloom, bouncing in my seat and clapping, like the little girl in the famous clip from Sandy Duncan's flight as Peter Pan. I wept over simple theatrical trickery that proved to me that there is still magic in the world. Magic exists in two theaters on Broadway right now.. a small one and a big one. And if there can be magic in two places, in one city, three blocks away from each other, every night at eight.... then there could be magic anywhere, at any time. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I grew up and let the cold harsh light of reality take away from me something that was an integral part of who I am. If I let the real world relieve me of my belief in magic, then maybe I also let the real world remove from me the part of me that is magic. THE TWO AND ONLY and MARY POPPINS opened my eyes to the existence of magic. Perhaps there is a chance that I might, myself, be magic, once more.

Please note that the last three photos above, from MARY POPPINS were taken off of the internet and that the photo credit given online is for Walter McBride. Bravo! Mr McBride! They are beautiful! The photos that appear before Mr McBride's photos were also taken off the internet but no photo credit was shown. With apologies to those photographers--also beautiful work!