Posthumously. John Lennon has a lingering afterlife in the minds of most people since so much of his life was put into music. Lennon, at the Broadhurst, is a celebration of both.
And when the show had run its 27-song course, Yoko Ono Lennon—his widow and the keeper of his forest fire—was ushered to the stage where she joined the ensemble of nine, jubilantly boogying out the curtain call to the timeless tune of "Give Peace a Chance."
What he was saying, she noted later at the after-party, is timeless, as applicable to George W.'s reign as it was to Nixon's. "His words have real resonance today," she said. "I'm happy about that"—and, yes, she can see him at the barricade fighting the good fight.
Not that this portrait of her husband is exactly wart-free. There's a portion in the show that owns up to the bad patch of their marital road, but she had no problem permitting it to be presented. "I wasn't being brave," she admitted. "It was just better for the drama."
She particularly enjoyed the multi-charactered depiction of Lennon. The entire ensemble gets a shot at showing the many sides of the man (when they're not portraying the many bold-face names that surrounded him), but, for the most part, four actors carry the Lennon load—Chad Kimball, Will Chase, Terrence Mann and Michael Potts—lateraling the lines to each other with the greatest of ease. (It sounds much harder than it, in fact, plays.)
Chase, who is finally getting around to originating a role on Broadway (or at least a fourth of it), instead of merely replacing people (a la The Full Monty, Rent and Aida), was ecstatic about his plight. "To begin a part on Broadway is one thing. For that part to be one of the musical idols I grew up with is another," he admitted. "I couldn't be happier."
Kimball was especially unfazed by spreading the role around: "We're all an ensemble, and you know when your time comes. Everybody supports everybody." In fact, his favorite moment in the show is an ensemble moment—during the song "Mother" in which everyone joins in. "You can actually hear the ensemble uniting as one on that song."
"No debate about it," said Potts, "it's so much easier to play this show—or any show, for that matter—if you are the part of a real team. We rev up each other every night. If somebody gives a song a new lick or does a line in a different way, we're over the moon."
Julia Murney, the only cast member who acquired her name from a Beatles song ("Julia" on "The Beatles," better known as "The White Album"), seconded the ensemble's esprit de corps. "My favorite moments are watching everybody else get up there and perform. The show has been phenomenally cast, and the songs are so much fun to act and sing—the kind of rock and roll songs that you reach down in your crotch for. The trick is to have to do that eight times a week."
Murney was persuaded to go blonde for the show, and Mann's silver mane (visible in the production shots) "miraculously" turned brown for the opening. In addition to Lennon, Mann runs quite a colorful gamut of greats from Winston Churchill to Queen Elizabeth II and, with nothing more than a fast tie switch, from David Frost to Mike Douglas. "We're out there working all the time," he said. "There's no dressing room time at all for us."
Mann's favorite moment is understandably conditioned by the fact that he is introducing a new Lennon song, "I Don't Want to Lose You." "It was never recorded. It was something he was going to do, but he died before he did it, so you're hearing it for the first time."
Mrs. Mann, Charlotte d'Amboise, arrived at the party late, having slaved over a hot matinee herself, replacing Christina Applegate in Sweet Charity rather than her usual Roxie Hart stint in Chicago. (Who else on Broadway is on constant star-call like that?)
Some giddy casting allows a couple of African-Americans to flit by as old guard sons of the South. Potts delights in donning a KKK hood, contending that making fun of the Klan defuses its power and terror. And Tony winner Chuck Cooper pops up as Senator Strom Thurmond. Who knew? ("And who knew he had a black mistress?" Cooper countered.)
Julie Danao-Salkin had the Yoko Ono role, and it was not the hot seat you might have imagined, she claimed. "She didn't single me out. She didn't single anybody out. She let the director deliver the notes. I have a lot of respect for her. It was an honor to play her."
That director, Don Scardino, was the fellow who came up with the unique concept of an ensemble-sided Lennon. "When I pitched the show to Yoko," he said, "one of her first questions was `Who is going to play John?' and I said, `Well, everyone.' To me, a John Lennon impersonator distances me from the subject. There's something about an actor imitating him—how he looks like him, sounds like him—that works against the material."
Scardino, in his director's notes in the Playbill, says he took his cue from something that Lennon had written in "I Am the Walrus"—namely, "I am he, as you are he, as you are me, and we are all together." A certain universal Everyman could be made of Lennon from that line, so he took this idea to his widow. "I outlined the play and told her the songs we would like, and she made the whole catalog available." Just like that, a show was born.
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