
Before I get all review-ish on you, let me tell you my theatric
credentials. None. I am a writer, though. Like a real one. And I saw Hamilton on tour. I see a few plays a
year. I used to live in Manhattan where I frequently got discounted tickets at
the TKTS box office that used to be in the World Trade Center—and I’m comforted
by knowing that it was actually closed on September 11. That’s it. I am,
however, and this is a biggie in connection to The Producers, a believer in the power of the Arts.
First, this is Mel Brooks. Can you believe that Mel is
ninety-two? I can’t either. I think an underlying fact needs to be known as one
ponders The Producers. His family—his
immediate family—consisted of Jewish people from Germany and Kiev, people stung
bitterly by Hitler. This is a kind of pain that never goes away. Not ever.
Brooks’ musical begs a question. What
does one do with the pain? It begs another question: How does one deal with the hate?
So let me suggest this, cautiously. The cliché is true, and
laughter is the best medicine. This is—quite honestly—a kind of revenge. Turn
Hitler into a joke. In this whip-smart script, Brooks has champions of Hitler
sing rousing songs, lead actors don Swastikas, and tiny weird mustaches fill
the stage. In 2019—under the shadow of anti-Semitism on streets and shootings
in churches and violence in Charlottesville—it seems like Brooks might be
edging pretty close to the line. I have to admit it: I got a little nervous
when Bialystock and Bloom put on those armbands . . .
But I went with it. And I watched. And I listened.
Here is a triumph. Turning a madman into an absurdity.
Still, The Producers
balances upon a delicate line in a #metoo-age. I would argue that good Art is
subversive and risky. Good Art flirts with danger.
And, yes, I took my children. You may or may not want to do
this. My kids have a writer-mom, who frequently philosophizes on Art and Its Horrors.
Plus, I cuss a lot and love Jewish humor. So we dealt with it as a family.
I’m not providing a plot summary, but let me sing the
praises of this fabulous cast (all of them!) and terrific production (what a
set!). With Scott Hyder as Max Bialystock (the best!) and Michael C. Stewart as
Leo Bloom, the audience is assured of a good time. Erin Ryan’s Ulla is adorable.
Matt McDonald returns as the writer of the Nazi-loving production—and he’s
still fabulous. And Roger (played by Patrick Russo) and Carmen (played by
Stephan Linder) shine on stage. Oh, but I loved Bloom and his blankie (he’s
reprising the role, as is Hyder).
Scott Hyder is amazing. I found his timing, humor, and
presence so top-notch. At one point, he “breaks the fourth wall,” and subtly
tells the audience that he knows that they’re thinking that Nathan Lane played
Bialystock better. I—theatre-happy, Brooks-charged—might beg to differ. Hyder
obviously gets the power of this fine piece of Art.
Fountain Hills Theater has put on a brave production.
(And here’s the link to my
new book!)
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