There's been a resurgence of interest of late in My Fair Lady, Lerner and Loewe's classic musical transformation of Shaw's Pygmalion. The Stoneham Theatre did a strong production last year, which rode the coat-tails of the Trevor Nunn touring version that had rolled through town a year or two before. That version starred Lisa O'Hare as Eliza (at left) who is now back in another production, opposite Charles Shaughnessy (of TV's The Nanny), at the North Shore Music Theatre.

So - are three Ladies in as many years almost too much of a good thing?

Not in my book - I could see this show every week, particularly with O'Hare as its star. She matches Audrey Hepburn's gamine presence with Julie Andrews' aristocratic pipes, and if she was impishly charming in that tour three years ago, she's absolutely adorable now; O'Hare is nestled completely inside the role at this point, yet keeps finding subtly original ways of mining it for both sentiment and whimsy.  In this performance lover-ly singing (and Lady regularly soars into coloratura territory) meets hilariously perceptively acting; O'Hare's is truly a classic Eliza.

And as her romantic - and phonetic - nemesis, Henry Higgins (I don't have to tell you the plot, do I?), Charles Shaughnessy proves a genially dapper surprise.  He perhaps doesn't have the piquant arrogance of Rex Harrison, nor that sense that he's an unstoppable force - and therefore he doesn't drive you, or Eliza, mad, which is too bad.  But Shaughnessy compensates with his own impishly light touch, and it's a definite plus that he can actually sing a little (which is all he has to do).  It likewise doesn't hurt that he hasn't lost his looks - Shaughnessy's performance may not be as deep or forceful as Harrison's, but he's a far more convincing romantic figure (below) than Rex ever was.

Alas, it must be said that My Fair Lady isn't, perhaps, ideally suited for an arena staging, but choreographer Michael Lichtefeld's use of the space was consistently inventive (with "Get Me to the Church on Time" proving a genuine showstopper); and while the production was rarely opulent, under the firm hand of director Charles Repole, it was admirably streamlined, and kept up a quicker pace than Trevor Nunn's ever did.  And it seemed to me that a few numbers, such as the "Ascot Gavotte," (the one time the show did pull out every glamorous stop) actually seemed wittier in the round. Luckily the North Shore was also blessed with a strong supporting cast (several of them locals). Hayden Tee made a marvelously callow Freddy, and his marvelous tenor made the most of the gorgeously lyrical "On the Street Where You Live." Meanwhile Bostonians Cheryl McMahon and Sarah deLima nailed their respective roles as Mrs. Pearce and Higgins's drily poised mother (deLima was a particular hoot). I only had my doubts (some doubts, anyway) about the swagger Bill Dietrich brought to Alfred P. Doolittle - I like my Doolittles with more of a lilt.

So I think fans of the musical will almost certainly be won over by this latest version, and if you haven't seen it (if you had, you'd be a fan) - well, what are you waiting for?

"One" at the North Shore Music Theatre.

It's hard to remember the last time a musical was a cultural watershed; A Chorus Line may, in fact, have been the last one.  Sure, Cats, Les Miz, and Phantom ran longer, I know, but sheer longevity isn't what I'm talking about here.  Impact is.  To watch A Chorus Line today - and this weekend is its last at the North Shore Music Theatre - is to mainline the mid-70's in their purest form, because much of the mid-70's derived from A Chorus Line; Marvin Hamlisch, Michael Bennett, gay confessionals, disillusion and self-absorption, the sense of an endless adolescence,  the vulgar truth-telling, the glitzy but streetwise "attitude," even the wide lapels matched with the glittering, retro top hats - it all seems to coalesce into something like the apotheosis of a decade.  And weirdly, if you're old enough to remember said decade from the first time around, this singular sensation plays as more than just nostalgia - it feels more like a kind of recognition.  "Oh, yeah," I found myself thinking after nearly every number. "That's how we used to think - that's how we used to feel!"

Which is a little scary in a way.  And I wonder - would someone born after that glamorous, crass expanse of excess feel the same way?  Of course not; how could they?  But I think they'd sense the power of A Chorus Line as source material - after all, the politically co-opted, self-centered 70's echo on in the culture far more than the 60's do.  And the North Shore does the show up right - not perfectly, mind you, but with enough power (and schmaltzy smarts) to more than put it over.

Do I have to tell you the "story"?  All right - it's about an audition, okay?  For a - guess what - chorus line.  In which slowly everybody's secrets are revealed.  Now let's get straight to the review.  The "trick" to casting many a show is finding singers who can also dance, but the trick to Chorus is finding dancers who can also sing (and act up a storm as well).  And the North Shore succeeds (mostly) - indeed, given that dance has been their weak spot this season, I was relieved to find they'd brought onboard a bevy of talented hoofers.  Not quite all these folks can belt, but they can all carry a tune, and all of them can act - except, alas, "one."

And unfortunately, that "one" is one of the show's leads.  The production's big disappointment is Derek Hanson's Zach - Hanson's certainly handsome, and a great dancer, too (did we see Zach dance this much in the earlier versions?), but as the casting director of that eponymous chorus (below), he relies on flat, angry barking far too often, and doesn't seem to know how to take advantage of the sense of mystery his physical absence provides (most of the time he's a disembodied, God-like voice). It all feels like one huge missed opportunity.

Zach puts his dancers through their paces.

Luckily, however, just about everyone else provides a fine, punchy performance. Rebecca Riker had the right aura of defeated, uncertain glamour as Cassie (whose return to the chorus after a failed shot at stardom somehow distills the show's sense of disillusionment). And Nancy Renée Braun and Venny Carranza had a sweet, funny chemistry as the husband-and-wife team with one big problem - one of them can't "Sing!" I was also impressed with Aaron Umsted's cockily out-of-the-closet "homosexual," and Katie Cameron's aging survivor, and I pretty much adored Julie Kotarides as the straight-talking Puerto Rican girl who tears the pretensions of theatre class to shreds in the famous "Nothing." But perhaps I was most taken with the hilariously perky Leslie Flesner, who, in "Dance: 10, Looks: 3" assures us with bubbly confidence that "Tits and ass can change your life!"

Still, there were some ways in which A Chorus Line is showing its age - or perhaps, now that its up-front gay and sexual content counts as less "shocking" (today it's almost quaint), the structural problems in the book are clearer - and director Mark Martino hasn't found a way to dodge them (although he has found effective ways to adjust the familiar choreography to the North Shore's arena stage).  The subplot between Cassie and Zach is awfully thin, for instance, and a long monologue about coming out under fire seems so unmotivated that it basically stops the show - only in the wrong way.  And an atmosphere of tragedy does cling to A Chorus Line for gay men of my generation, I have to admit.  Drawn from actual interviews with dancers (or "gypsies," as they called themselves), the script is heavy with a defiantly fabulous gay attitude that would be all but washed away just years after the show's premiere (with the arrival of the AIDS epidemic).  Indeed, I think none of the four gay men who created this show lived to see the end of its triumphant Broadway run.  Thus, seen in retrospect, the sense of threat that hangs over A Chorus Line - the fear deep inside these dancers that someday they'll lose the ability to dance - seems touchingly naïve.  These people had no idea what was about to hit them.

Getting down and Dirty at the North Shore

After their great performances, these "Scoundrels" deserve a rest.

"What you lack in grace you more than make up for in vulgarity," the lead of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels quips at one point to his sidekick, and it's the kind of back-handed compliment that pretty much sums up the whole show.  Spawned in the shadow of The Producers, Scoundrels starts out broad and bawdy - and then just gets broader and bawdier, its shenanigans always laced with smart-alecky, Mad-Magazine-style wit.  But this seems to be (again, as the show itself would have it) merely a case of "giving 'em what they want": Scoundrels survived a slew of lukewarm reviews on Broadway, went on to win a Tony for one of its stars, and seems to have been touring somewhere ever since.

And now it's at Beverly's North Shore Music Theatre, in a jazzy, snazzy production that should prove a hit, because it definitely gives the crowd what it wants - even though I began to tune out well before the last whoopee-cushion gag (although I'm speaking metaphorically; the whoopee cushion, oddly enough, never makes its appearance).  I'm hardly immune to raunchy humor - but I'm not a fan of repetition; and while Scoundrels seems to just want you to let out a great big horselaugh (which you're happy to do), it then wants you to do it again, and again, and again.  Indeed, its tone and attack never vary for two and half hours (the physical schtick in the second half particularly begins to drag).

But if I don't have the stamina of a horse, a lot of people do, and they were clearly enjoying the hell out of this show the night I saw it.  And to be honest, in many ways Scoundrels, which some have called "Son of The Producers" is actually quite a bit better than The Producers.  David Yazbeck's score and lyrics are definitely stronger: the finale's hook is actually memorable, as is "Great Big Stuff," which cleverly parodies its own stupidity - plus there's a hilarious ballad near the end that ruthlessly savages Broadway's sappy little broken heart.  And every now and then, hidden in its adolescent-suburban vision of sophistication (and its knowing acknowledgment of its own bad taste) there's a nugget of genuine, if crude, wit.  After all, listening to your kid brother's dirty jokes can be pretty funny.

Jennifer Cody and Brent Barrett face off in "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels."

And Yazbeck and book writer Jeffrey Lane couldn't ask for a stronger cast than the one at the North Shore to put over their material, whatever its virtues.  The sets are again pretty minimal, and the dancing still hasn't reached the "old" North Shore's athletic standard - but the stars are of exceptionally high wattage, as they're mostly folks who know their way around Broadway, or have actually toured with this show before.  Lead Brent Barrett is perhaps more distant than debonair as Lawrence Jameson, the smooth "scoundrel" who romances women away from their jewelry in a Riviera resort.  But he's got a strong voice, chiseled looks, and a skillful versatility that covers all the many bases he's got to run, as the show requires that he channel Harvey Korman one minute, then Cary Grant the next.  This smooth swindler still can't prevent, however, the hyperactive D.B. Bonds from stealing almost every scene from him as his less "classy" sidekick, Freddy.

Or from being upstaged by a bevy of talented women, either.  As the socialite who's even tackier than her seducers, Jennifer Cody (above) romped off with the whole production, and Brynn O'Malley proved a bright blonde firecracker (a kind of Kristin-Chenoweth-in-waiting) as the gal who just may be beating the big boys at their own game.  Even on the sidelines there was great work, from John Scherer and Lynne Wintersteller as a corrupt police captain and a sweetly clueless society dame who still carries the torch for her swindler.  Director Mark Martino punched everything up, and kept all the "great big stuff" moving with appropriate zip.  Because, I know, I know, sometimes you just have to give people what they want.

Vicki Lewis demands "Rose's Turn."

Why did North Shore Music Theatre choose Gypsy as its comeback number? The classic show is notoriously hard to cast - it includes one of the most challenging psychological roles in musical theatre history (Mama Rose) as well as a bevy of juveniles who can act, sing, and dance their hearts out. But it's a classic for a reason - it boasts one of the best scores evah (music by the great Jule Styne, lyrics by the even-greater Stephen Sondheim). Even more to the point, its theme - show-biz survival, no matter what - has tremendous resonance for the NSMT itself. When Mama Rose defiantly shouted "Curtain up! Light the lights!" in the showstopping "Everything's Coming Up Roses," you could feel everyone in the building, from the audience to the crew, singing silently along with her.

Because, in case you didn't know, the North Shore has survived even more than Mama Rose has. Fire, then bankruptcy - and still the theatre keeps coming back, this time as a for-profit venture by theatre impresario Bill Hanney. You've gotta have show biz in your blood to take that kind of risk, so it was a relief to find that Gypsy, despite a wobble here and there, boded well for his big gamble; as a first step, this brilliant musical counts as something of a great leap forward for the NSMT. Director Richard Sabellico has brought some clever flourishes to his essentially-traditional production, and has smartly re-staged this proscenium show for the NSMT's in-the-round arena (if anything, he has almost over-compensated with the blocking). As stage-mom-from-hell Mama Rose, TV star Vicki Lewis at first doesn't seem to have the take-no-prisoners brassiness we associate with the likes of Ethel Merman, Roz Russell and Patti LuPone - but we realize slowly that this is Mama Rose not as drill sergeant but as underdog, and her sheer determination grows on you. And to be honest, Lewis brings an edge of needy desperation to her famous meltdown, "Rose's Turn," that I thought (although I know this is heresy) was more powerful than LuPone's take in the widely-raved-over Broadway revival.

And there's more good news. As downtrodden daughter Louise, Catherine Walker displays both the sweetest set of pipes in the show, and a steadily-growing sense of her own power as she sheds skin after psychological skin to finally reveal herself as stripper Gypsy Rose Lee. And Amanda Lea Lavergne made a surprisingly strong and sympathetic sister June, who grew up herself to be actress June Havoc (Lavergne was so intriguing, in fact, that we missed her once she'd left the story). There were other great turns from good sports Jacquelyn Piro Donovan, Jan Neuberger and Laurie Gamache as the grizzled strippers of "You Gotta Get A Gimmick" (which always brings down the house), and an acidly pert performance from Diane Terrusa as a fed-up producer's assistant.

Where are the gaps? I knew you were going to ask. Well, the staff is stripped down now, and you could feel it in the occasional squeak in the sound system, and the fact that the (pleasingly large) orchestra was still pulling together on opening weekend. The production didn't yet have the smooth, gears-gliding-against-gears feel that the North Shore had in its heyday. But then this is a first production. What I missed most was the great dancing that the North Shore used to showcase; they regularly attracted the best Broadway hoofers in the region (this may be just a question of re-connecting with some particular circuit). The opportunities for great dance in Gypsy are somewhat limited, it's true, but the one big opportunity in the show ("All I Need is the Girl") was good, but not great.

Still, what's the bottom line? The North Shore is back, with a big show that was a big gamble, but pays off, with strong supporting roles and a star turn that builds into something really commanding. The theatre has been smartened up, too, with fresh finishes here and there, and some sharp new landscaping and gazebos for drinks before the show. So curtain up - light the lights; there's nothing to hit but the heights. Everything is coming up roses for the North Shore.

Walking in Memphis . . . I mean Beverly . .

A scene from Memphis.

Just one more rah-rah for the home team. Broadway handed the Tony for Best Musical to Memphis on Sunday. But if you were a fan of the North Shore Music Theatre (in its former incarnation, under Jon Kimbell) you saw Memphis . . . wait for it . . . seven years ago, in 2003, when it was a world premiere up in Beverly. It's nice to know, of course, that New York does eventually catch up to the Boston suburbs - but needless to say, it will cost you a lot more to see Memphis now than it did then!

It's official - the North Shore is back!

According to the theatre's website:

Massachusetts businessman Bill Hanney has reached an agreement with Citizens Bank to purchase the North Shore Music Theatre property.

Mr. Hanney is currently putting together a new business plan and management team to reopen North Shore Music Theatre in the spring/summer of 2010.

Rumors have been bubbling about a show in development for this summer. Stay tuned.