Originally posted to THE VAULT OF BUNCHENESS on December 9th, 2010.
You
have no doubt heard about the problem-plagued Broadway translation of
everyone’s favorite webhead, SPIDER-MAN: TURN OF THE DARK, a production
notable as the most expensive musical in the history of the Great White
Way (with an estimated cost in the neighborhood of $65,000,000), with
music and lyrics by Bono and The Edge from pop music perennials U2 and
helmed by the visionary Julie Taymor (she of THE LION KING renown). The
show’s cost-overruns, questionable choice of composers for a Broadway
show, seemingly ludicrous inclusion of the Taymor-conceived villainess
Swiss Miss, wimpy would-be-show-stopper “The Boy Falls from the Sky,”
and unfortunate technical glitches and cast injuries during the early
previews are the main elements that have kept this troubled show in the
theater headlines for months and made it into a media whipping boy,
fueling a cruel sense of schadenfreude in comics fans and theater mavens
alike (to say nothing of the critics and Broadway pundits).
As a lifelong comic book freak, the first words out of my mouth when I
heard a Spider-Man musical was in the works were “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
and I freely admit that my disgust at the current state of
mostly-soulless Broadway fare led me to instantly hate on the
production, sight unseen, causing me to rail against one of the great
pop culture heroes of the latter half of the 20th century joining the
likes of lazy “jukebox” musicals, awful musicalized version of movies,
and the seemingly endless plague of corporate Disney-based shows
cluttering up the place like empty, sauce-smeared Big Mac containers
found tossed out of the car window onto the side of I-95. I followed
each new news item on the show with a morbid and cynical interest and
decided I wanted to see the show because, in my mind, it could not
possibly be anything other than a noxious turd floating in the Broadway
punchbowl, it’s presence causing those at the gala party to hurl up
partially-digested canapés. Anyone who knows me even peripherally knows I
have a sick fascination with all things “bad,” so it was a given that I
would simply have to bear witness to SPIDER-MAN: TURN OFF THE DARK for
myself, so, with the aid of my girlfriend "She Who Cannot Be Named"’s
kind use of her grad school student discount, I procured us a pair of
tickets for the show’s previews. However, as the date of the performance
we were to see approached, my own shadenfreude over the show gave way
to a realization that the cast and crew of the show were slaving away
under the very tight and merciless scrutiny of the public and the media
to create a spectacle unlike anything yet seen or experienced on the
Broadway stage. Taymor’s THE LION KING was a groundbreaking effort that
translated the animated source’s sense of wonder to human-performed,
colorful life, so her innovate chops would be sorely tested in the
course of staging the king of wall-crawling, web-slinging,
bad-guy-ass-kicking we have rightfully come to expect from Your Friendly
Neighborhood Spider-Man since he first graced the printed four-color
page back in 1962. Being an artsy sort myself, I was finally moved to
give Taymor and the rest the benefit of the doubt and hope against hope
that the nay-sayers were wrong and that they would all be left with
nothing but their Playbills lodged deep within their collective colon
when the smoke cleared.
Well, folks, here’s what I got, and HERE THERE BE SPOILERS.
The show consists of two acts, the first of which cribs heavily from the
first Spider-Man film. Act One basically retells (for the umpteenth
time) the story of how bookish high school student Peter Parker (Reeve
Carney) gets bitten by a scientifically altered arachnid and becomes
Spider-Man, while scientist Norman Osborn (Patrick Page, hamming it up
with a southern accent) tests one of his experiments upon himself and
ends up as the insane and utterly homicidal Green Goblin. Mary Jane
(Jennifer Damiano) is also there as the love interest, and the
proceedings are commented upon by a contemporary Greek chorus of comic
book geeks whose presence adds nothing whatsoever to the narrative.
The most major addition to the familiar tale is Arachne, the figure from
Greek mythology who lost a weaving contest to a jealous and pissed-off
Athena — who, along with being the goddess of wisdom, the city, and
warfare, was also the patron deity of weaving (go figure) — and, after
attempting to commit suicide, was turned into the world's first spider
for her efforts and inadvertently giving us the word “arachnid” in the
process. Arachne is thus rendered immortal and portrayed as an artist
frustrated at being robbed of her self-slaughter by the goddess, and as
the story progresses she chooses to gift Peter Parker with
spider-powers. Exactly why is anyone’s guess, and the Greek mythology
element was wholly unnecessary, so I chalk that one up to Julie Taymor’s
directorial/auteurist masturbation, visually impressive though Arachne
may be. Nonetheless, the character shows up at various intervals in the
show, but more on that later.
The first act annoyed me for its aping of the first movie, and it’s a
rather generic affair as musical entertainment goes. The songs are like
an unwelcome time warp back to the late-1980’s, and even for U2 the
tunes can only be described as cookie cutter confections. No lie, Bono
and The Edge (oh, that ridiculous moniker!) pretty much phoned the songs
in and I defy anyone who sat through the show to find any of them truly
memorable.
Also of great irritation to me was the totally pointless “re-imagining”
of the death of Peter’s Uncle Ben, the single most important element in
galvanizing Peter into becoming a true hero who understands the maxim
that “with great power comes great responsibility.” Peter’s early
assholism as the fresh-out-of-the-gate Spider-Man originally led him to
not stop an escaping robber when said criminal stole cash from a TV
producer who stiffed him for monies owed (in the most famous version of
his origin). The robber later ended up murdering Uncle Ben, causing
Peter to forever bear the guilt for his uncle’s needless death, a
terrible loss that could have been prevented if only he’d done the right
thing and not been a dick. In terms of comic book legends, this was the
equivalent to heart-wrenchingly tragic opera; in Taymor’s version,
Peter does not act when school bully Flash Thompson’s car is stolen, and
as a result Uncle Ben, who attempted to give chase, is run over and
killed. Sure, it’s tragic, but there is a considerable qualitative
difference in the personal narrative power of a homicide versus that of a
hit and run, which remains unresolved in the play, thus losing Peter
realizing the killer was the guy he didn’t stop and throwing that
shocking realization’s gravitas straight down the bowl. Even people who
are only familiar with Spider-Man’s origin from the movies can tell
that’s bullshit, so what was the need to change it? Certainly not to
prevent there being any deaths in a family show, since it’s made clear
that people are killed left and right during the Green Goblin’s
rampages, plus to say nothing of a visually interesting puppet
dismemberment perpetrated by Swiss Miss during the second act.
When the fifteen-minute intermission happened, "She Who Cannot Be
Named" and I compared opinions and both agreed that the show was rather
unimpressive save for the truly spectacular sets, costumes and amazing
aerial stunts that required Spider-Man to somersault and land about
fifteen feet away from where we were seated in mid-balcony (which
afforded an excellent view of all the action on and off stage, except
for when the flying and web-swinging combat moved to just below the
balcony’s edge).
Then the lights dimmed and Act Two began, and what followed caused both
myself and "She Who Cannot Be Named" to consider the possibility that,
mediocre though it may have been, the first act was at least carefully
thought out, but after that the show’s creators must have went off and
downed some serious quantities of the highest grade peyote imaginable.
And let me be clear: I do not
mean that in a good way. What coherence the first act had went out the
window as Arachne grew pissy about Peter not living up to her
as-yet-unstated agenda, so when Peter gets disgusted with the burden of
being Spider-Man and gives up his role as NYC’s protector, she
influences the Goblin and several other baddies (Electro, Kraven the
Hunter, Swarm, The Lizard, and the living Swiss army knife, Swiss Miss)
to go on a murderous spree in the midst of a citywide blackout. Peter
eventually gets it together and recovers his suit from the office of
J.Jonah Jameson at the Daily Bugle (as seen in the movie), but when it
comes time to confront the villains, although we see an impressionistic
depiction of the retrieval of the suit and Spider-Man donning it, a
maskless Peter shows up to fight wearing a jacket with a big red spider
emblazoned on the back and a pair of jeans. As Mary Jane dangles from
one of the gargoyles on the Chrysler Building, Peter stands in front of
huge projected images of his foes and strikes stylistic combat poses
meant to symbolize him punching and defeating the villains, and neither
actively has a final confrontation with the Green Goblin nor is seen
rescuing Mary Jane. No climactic, cathartic battle, no romantic rescue
of the girl he loves. Bubkes. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Fuck all. Instead, his
heroic actions meet the approval of Arachne and somehow grant her the
right to finally make good on her suicide attempt, once more becoming
human and being drawn to the heavens with a noose around her neck (this
is apparently the turning off of the dark mentioned in the title). Then a
huge banner with a drawing of Spider-Man drops from the rafters and
obscures the stage. When that happened, "She Who Cannot Be Named" sat
stunned, looked at me and observed, “Well, that certainly ended on a
strange note,” to which I observed, “Nah, it’s not over yet. He’s still
got to fight the Goblin and save M.J.” But I could not have been more
wrong; the house lights came up, the banner was reeled in, and the cast
came out and took their bows to less-than-thunderous applause. I sat
there feeling like I’d been beaten about the head with a burlap sack
full of quarters. This admittedly visually spectacular triumph of
stagecraft did not have an ending.
No, I swear to god.
IT DID NOT HAVE AN ACTUAL ENDING.
Even with the student discount taken into account, I felt profoundly
ripped off. Much of the audience that I overheard as we exited shared my
sentiments and there was much discussion of the show’s many, many
faults while acknowledging that it did at least bring the eye candy.
Nonetheless, it was in no way worth the exorbitant full price, which for
some seats ran as high as $140.
So I unequivocally state that, for all its lofty intentions, SPIDER-MAN:
TURN OFF THE DARK was the most stunning train wreck that I have seen in
my thirty-six years of seeing shows on Broadway (I've been going since I
was nine). Never in my life have I seen a show go so precipitously off
the rails as this one did with that “Was I just dosed?” second act, so I
strongly advise all and sundry to steer clear, unless you have that
kind of money to throw away in this economy. This show may be in
previews at the moment, but its problems are too many to tweak without
completely starting over from scratch with the book, and that ain't
gonna happen before the show's proper opening in January.
That said, I would like to conclude with a few notes on some of the
show’s points of interest, both the good and the howlingly bad:
• Reeve Carney and Jennifer Damiano are largely blameless and both
are quite good for what they are given to do as Peter and Mary Jane.
Both have good (miked) voices and can carry their respective tunes, but
they exhibit little if any chemistry, and that’s a problem when trying
to sell a show’s emotional core.
• The Greek chorus of comic book geeks is annoying and unnecessary,
eventually getting literally chased off the stage during the “Deeply
Furious” number (more on that shortly), never to return. Since this show
is still in previews and said previews are when tweaks are made before
the show’s proper opening, the Greek chorus gets my strongest nomination
as the one element in the show that could be completely excised without
hindering anything in the least.
• I would have also suggested the removal of Arachne because, for the
life of me, I could not figure out just why the hell she was there at
all. But then, quite unexpectedly, she turns out to have influence over
the bad guys as part of her ill-defined plans for Peter. At one point
she states that she is “the only real artist working today,” which makes
me think that Julie Taymor is using her as a blatantly allegorical
mouthpiece for her thoughts on Broadway and her own career. Maybe I’m
wrong, but…
• The plot notes that during the blackout and villains’ rampage,
fifty shoe stores were robbed of their stock, an event deemed
un-newsworthy by J. Jonah Jameson (and me). That pointless bit comes
back later and provides the impetus for the single worst number I’ve
ever seen in a live show, specifically “Deeply Furious,” in which
Arachne’s Furies, a number of half-human spider-women with well-crafted
extra arachnid limbs, take the aforementioned shoes, put them on their
multiple feet, and sing about how they’re going to “shoe chop”
Spider-Man.
It was like some scene that loony film director Ken Russell had left on
the cutting room floor during the editing of his balls-out lysergic
LISZTOMANIA (1975), and as it played out onstage, "She Who Cannot Be
Named" nearly laughed until she puked, while I sat through the entirety
of the number with my mouth hanging open in complete and utter
disbelief. I looked around to see how the rest of the audience was
reacting to it, and all I saw were stony faces like a multitude of deer
caught in the proverbial headlights. When the song ended, I looked
at "She Who Cannot Be Named" (who was still collecting herself) and
asked aloud, “Did I just actually see that?” I genuinely hope that the
segment gets taped for posterity so future generations can gaze upon it
in wonder and outright confusion.
• The song “D.I.Y. World,” sung by Norman Osborn and fellow
scientists at OsCorp in praise of their own work and genius, felt like
an unintentional throwback to “Oh Happy Day” from the musical version of
LI’L ABNER (1956), some fifty-four years after the fact.
• The Daily Bugle’s set was highly reminiscent of that seen in the
“Shall I take dictation” sequence in the dystopian porn film CAFÉ FLESH
(1982), complete with surrealistic lighting, minimalist furnishings, and
typists with typewriters and no desks (in the movie there was only one;
here there are several). Also, the Bugle’s staff was an assortment of
Broadway musical reporter clichés whose costume designs intermingled
looks ranging from the early-1930’s through roughly 1964, lending the
whole thing the look of a newsroom in another dimension.
• How the Green Goblin knew who Peter Parker was when he captures and
unmasks him is not explained. He is also aware of Peter’s relationships
with M.J. and Aunt May, also unexplained. That info was all given in
the movie, so I’m guessing the script was counting on its audience
having seen that film. If so, that’s lazy scriptwriting at its most
egregious.
• The ludicrous and much-decried Swiss Miss is only in it for maybe four or five minutes and she has no lines.
• Stan Lee, Steve Ditko, John Romita Sr., and J. Michael Straczinski
are all name-checked as scientists on staff at OsCorp. For those not in
the know, the first two are the co-creators of Spider-Man, the third
defined the character’s more polished and romantic look once Ditko left
drawing the comics (odds are if you’re familiar with Spider-Man’s
signature image over the past four-plus decades, you know Romita’s take
on the character), and J.M. Straczinski wrote the character in recent
years. A wee nod for the geeks in the audience.
• During some of the fight scenes in the first act, the tired trope
of “Pow/Biff/Thwack” sound effects a la the classic Adam West Batman TV
series from the 1960’s are seen. That gag was tired by 1972 and does not
hold water in the 2000’s.
• Most obnoxious moment in the entire show: a dance club scene where
the song the crowd is dancing to is U2’s 2004 hit “Vertigo.” Dudes, you
wrote the music for the entire show. Do you really need to do product
placement for your own records as well? Majorly douchey move.
• The only memorable thing about any of the show’s music is the
guitar hook that thankfully dominates “The Boy Falls from the Sky.”
Proof that I bore witness.
