Pal Joey

If you're a single woman dating in New York (and, well, anywhere), it's a sure bet that at some point you'll run into a "playa." This type of man is also known as a rascal, a scoundrel, a user, a deceiver, "the name that shall not be spoken" or all of the above. And while these definitions are clear, realizing that the blue-eyed devil who keeps "forgetting" to return your calls is a creature of this species, is not. And often, this is not due to some malfunction in womanly radar or unconscious desire to be hurt, but instead because of the slippery nature of many a playa. They can be sexy, fun and usually have some endearing, vulnerable underbelly, too. And here's the conundrum: A playa is inevitably a bad candidate for dating, but is not necessarily a completely putrid human being. George Clooney, anyone?

The character of a playa hasn't become a source of interest only recently. It's been the subject of many classic books and movies, and of the musical Pal Joey, originally on Broadway in 1940. In the current production of this classic Rodgers and Hart show at Studio 54, the studied specimen is Joey Evans, a handsome, silk-tongued, starry-eyed hoofer looking to set up his own nightclub in Chicago in the late 1930s. After leaving countless towns and women behind in his wake, he sets up shop at a little lounge in Chicago, hoping to make it big with chorus girls and a song-and-dance show in tow. It seems that Joey's dreams of headlining at his own boite will come to fruition with the help of jaded cougar Vera Simpson who takes him on as a fit accessory. But between her affection and his newfound feelings for innocent shopgirl Linda English, this playa has a hard time fitting in all that playing and keeping his head on straight.

Although the plot is vintage, this production is given pop and sizzle from knockout choreography by jazz master Graciela Daniele, tight direction from Joe Mantello and a brushed up book from Richard Greenberg (based on the original by John O'Hara).

Of the three, Daniele's touches adds the most sparkle and punch, and makes this show a dance-lover's favorite. Whereas many preludes include only orchestrations, after Joey appears in a tunnel of light with his travelling-man fedora, an entire dancescape unfolds onstage from the get go. With a ballet underpinning, Daniele weaves in swirling turns and kicks, plus jutting Charleston moves. And it's all grounded by Jack Cole-esque suavity and masculinity. Her creativity is captured best in "You Mustn't Kick It Around" where the club's showgirls transform into gangster men, sliding and slinking in zoot suits. Each step and hip bump help create the glamorous, shady ambiance of the speakeasy era.

On top of the background visuals offered by the fabulous dancers, the show's best assets include stunner performances from leading-lady divine Stockard Channing, theater chameleon Martha Plimpton and newcomer Matthew Risch. In her role as lonely, lovely Vera, Channing puts all the components together in an effortless way to sketch Vera's aching, listless life. Her chords aren't as tuned as they were when she crooned "There Are Worse Things I Could Do" in Grease. But when singing the favorite "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" Channing strums each note with honesty and passion. It just goes to show, all those acting teachers were right: Tell the story in the song, feel what you are singing and the sound is sometimes secondary. Plus with stems worthy of a thirty year old, and the unmatched ability to deliver zingers, Channing remains one of the great divas of today.

Martha Plimpton proves she is right up there with her in a shocking turn from her usual dramatic roles. As Gladys Bumps, a ballsy cabaret singer who has it out for Joey, Plimpton proves she can play low just as well as high. If you've seen Plimpton in any production recently, you know she can act the hell out of anything. So it's her singing that makes jaws drop even more this time. Belting out tunes like the striptease "Zip," her brassy, full voice is steady and powerful, and she seems completely comfortable in her singer role.

But it's Matthew Risch who must get the lion's share of admiration. Originally he was an understudy for Broadway star Christian Hoff. But Risch was thrust into the big leagues when Hoff injured his foot and left the production. Because the piece is clearly Joey's show, this was a huge pass off. But Risch strutted, sneaked and swaggered with a confidence worthy of a seasoned leading man. Yes, he sweat barrels through the amorous "I Could Write a Book" in response to hoofing his way through the first ten minutes of the show. But, as a steady showman, he simply wiped it away while singing and remaining engaged the entire time. His fancy footwork stays afloat too with real dancing chops easy to see in Daniele's choreography. But mostly, it's Risch's way of striking that tough balance between making the audience feel "I love him, I hate him, I love him, I hate him" that is so winning. And a bod that won't quit and eyes that pout with the best of them doesn't hurt either.

True, the story isn't as complex or lofty as theatergoers might hope for, and this makes for moments when the plot ambles and the actors must make do with old-fashioned reasoning. And yes, this is reflected in an audience that can remember the songs from the original version. But somehow, where elsewhere this throwback feeling might be musty and cloying, here it's charming and nostalgic, helping this solid production do well on its own traveling-man legs.

Pal Joey
Rating: Excellent
Studio 54
Roundabout Theatre Company