Yesterday I saw “Taboo.” I enjoyed it. I feel guilty about that.
One of the eight million things I want to do with my life is be a theater critic. I’d love to be able to see every show, for free, and then get to write about all of them. But I have doubts about whether I’d be good at it. First, I don’t know if I’m an observant enough theatergoer. Second, I don’t know if I’m knowledgeable enough. Third, I don’t know if I’m mean enough.
What is a theater critic’s job? Is it to evaluate a show as Art? Is it to try to encourage the creation of better shows? Is it just to give one’s personal opinion of a show? Is it to give potential audiences some idea of a show so that they can decide whether they want to see it? Or some combination of these?
What if you don’t think a show is a great, groundbreaking piece of art but you still enjoyed it? Because that’s how I feel about “Taboo.” I think I need to expand my theater-review reading beyond the New York Times; my idea of theater criticism has been influenced by both Frank Rich and Ben Brantley, both of whom have been occasionally grouchy critics (Brantley especially) with very high standards, often more concerned with what’s wrong with a show than with what’s right about it. As an aspiring writer, I’m empathetic with artists who have a hard enough time getting their work shown and produced without then having to watch it get hammered to pieces by those who enjoy taking potshots.
“Taboo” has problems — way too much amplification, several unmemorable songs, and an unfocused plot. There are two stories going on at once — the story of Boy George and the story of Leigh Bowery, a club impresario. While George O’Dowd (the real Boy George) gives a moving, funny performance as Leigh, I didn’t care about the love triangle created around him. I wanted more of Boy George (the character).
But there were some good things: terrific costumes, some beautiful ballads (generously spread among five different characters), and some creative sets. (This may be the first Broadway musical with a set that includes urinals; not even “Urinetown” has that.)
There were also some very good performances, although two of the main parts were played by understudies. I’m beginning to think that Raul Esparza doesn’t actually exist, because this is the second show I’ve seen in which he was replaced by an understudy. (The first was “Tick, Tick… Boom!” a couple of years ago. Now, if I were a professional theater critic, I wouldn’t have to see understudies.)
As I said, I was more interested in Boy George’s story than in Leigh Bowery’s. The actor playing George gave a touching performance, and toward the end of Act One, we hear two familiar songs: “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” and “Karma Chameleon.” I’d forgotten how catchy they both are and how much I used to enjoy them. I kept thinking about one of my favorite movies, “Edge of 17,” about a gay Midwestern teenager in 1984 who slowly comes out of the closet and begins to dress like the famous pop star.
The similarities of this show to “The Boy From Oz” are uncanny. They’re both biographical stories about a popular music star who deals with his sexuality, and they both include a character who dies of AIDS. And — going in, I didn’t think I’d say this, but — I preferred “Taboo.” Without Hugh Jackman, “The Boy From Oz” is pretty much unoriginal pablum. “Taboo” may have several flaws, but at least it tries.
Despite buying our tickets at the TKTS booth five minutes before showtime, we sat on the side of the orchestra, only about ten rows back, and they were pretty good seats. There were, sadly, rows and rows of empty seats behind us. One of the characters makes a reference to the balcony early on, and from up there, I think I really did hear the sound of one hand clapping. I don’t know if it’s the mixed reviews that have kept audiences away or if people associate the show with Rosie O’Donnell and just don’t like her.
Would I have paid a hundred bucks to see “Taboo”? No. Fifty was probably even a little too much. Does “Taboo” redefine the Broadway musical? No. Is it a breakthrough? No. But I’m still glad I saw it.
I wonder if Ben Brantley can say as much.
I believe that the scenic design of THE FULL MONTY included urinals, in the scene set in the Men’s Room at the Strip Club. :)
Dammit.
See, I knew I should have seen that show.
And they really do go full monty, though the lighting effects make it difficult to see anything . . . worthwhile.
Not that the typical cast of The Full Monty is really my type o’ guy!
Excellent point about criticism, which could be extended to the practice as done with all the arts. When it’s part of your job to fill a certain amount of column inches per month, you’re going to spend more time going into what’s wrong with any creative endeavor than write over and over why it made you feel good – sentiments, while true, that often simply don’t make for as interesting reading. Whenever possible, I try to read between the lines when deciding if I’m going to shell out; it’s not whether critics like something, but what words they use to voice their preference.
I assume you know that the “Taboo” you saw was apparently quite different from the one I saw in London in 2002; just for your information, rather than quite so much Leigh Bowery, that one had a more engaging (if predictable) boy-meets-girl primary plot. I believe it was in a much smaller theatre than the N.Y. show, which gave a feeling of really being in a seedy, early 80’s nightclub. I guess there are economic reasons why Rosie and George didn’t duplicate that effort on Broadway.
Re: criticism. You should read the essay “Criticism” in Matthew Goulish’s “39 Microlectures.” Actually,you’d probably enjoy many of the essays in that book. Goulish is a founding member of Goat Island, the performance company associated with the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
I use the essay to help my students (I teach critical non-fiction at NYU) stop setting up false oppositions between artists and critics, as well as to understand that the act of criticism is about opening up further thinking rather than just giving definitive interpretations. [To this end, mindless adulation is just as toxic as withering scorn.] To be fair to Rich and Brantley: part of the task of a daily paper critic is to give quick assessment based on a kind of professional investment in the art form. Even at their snarkiest, they usually are more disappointed than mean. After all, if you love the theatre, how can you not be disappointed by beautifully crafted, yet artisticly void productions?
You can be entertained by something and still not think it’s very interesting. In those moments, I think we must ask ourselves if being “merely” entertained is enough, if that first flush of emotion is enough to nourish our souls. And, if it is, then what does that help us see to understand about ourselves? In a larger sense, this is one of the things good criticism must help us do.
For good critical review essays, you might want to invest in a subscription to the New Yorker. Their arts critics are masters of the essay form and magazine writing gives the critic a chance to subject the object to a longer period of scrutiny and reflection. Their book and art essays are top-notch. You should also check out Hilton Als review of “Taboo,” since it is on your mind.
Excellent suggestions, thanks. I already subscribe to the New Yorker, but I haven’t read the review of “Taboo” yet. I think I might take a look at the book you mention.