Theatre in Review: Half Time (Paper Mill Playhouse)

	Georgia Engel and company. Photo: Jerry Dalia.

Jerry Mitchell has become so successful that even he is now turning out school-of-Jerry Mitchell shows. That the director-choreographer's latest project could have been called The Full Monty: The AARP Edition isn't necessarily cause for alarm, but, in this case, he may be following his own formula a little too slavishly. Peppy and tuneful as it is, it contains very little that you haven't seen before -- or can't see coming from a mile away.

Based on a documentary by Dori Berinstein, about the development of a senior citizen cheering squad for the New Jersey Nets, Half Time invents a parallel Jersey basketball team, the Cougars, whose vice president of entertainment decides to complement the existing Cougarettes -- a bevy of nubile, nimble young things -- with a group of over-sixties that she proposes to name Nifty Shades of Gray. Nine golden-agers are chosen -- although why is never clear, since it becomes immediately apparent that they are incapable of handling a hip-hop dance vocabulary. (An entire number, "Who Wants to See That?," is used to establish their rebellious mood.) As in The Full Monty, the days count down as the squad struggles to master the right fly moves while dealing with various personal problems, internecine personal battles, and a nasty intervention by the team's management. Do they pull it together for opening night? How many musicals have you seen?

The show coasts entirely on the strength of its four stars, not all of whom are used well. The show's most indispensable asset is Georgia Engel as Dorothy, a prim schoolteacher who turns out to have hip-hop in her soul. Engel, of course, slays with remarkable ease -- she doesn't deliver laugh lines so much as she exhales them -- but she also raps with elan and dances with a fluidity that belies her years. The sometimes-muddled book, by Bob Martin and Chad Beguelin, flirts with the idea that the character is a split personality -- she walks with a cane but dances without one, and alternately refers to herself as Dorothy and Dottie -- but, like so much else in Half Time, it is brought up only to be dropped. No matter: Engel is a solid gold attraction all by herself.

Engel also makes a fine dance (and romantic) partner for Andre De Shields as the one male member of Nifty Shades of Gray. He doesn't have as many opportunities, but he brings some welcome suavity and charm to a number titled "The Prince of Swing," and, egged on by Engel, who plays straight woman, earns some of the biggest laughs of the evening with a convoluted speech -- involving his grandson, daughter-in-law, and Sea World -- about why the show must go on.

Lillias White is an asset to any show, but it's dispiriting to see her stuck in a flat comedy subplot playing the doting Bea, whose sullen, disrespectful granddaughter (the impressive newcomer Nkeki Obi-Melekwe), a Cougarette, isn't dying to have the old lady around to comment on her affair with a married member of the Cougars. White has a pleasant number, "Princess," about her indulgent love for the young lady, but is made to perform it four times throughout the show until the situation reaches a thoroughly predictable punch line. And Donna McKechnie, as a former professional dancer -- she appeared in a single Broadway flop, titled Bongos at Noon -- is lost in the shuffle until near the end, when she makes a shockingly malevolent decision, then defends herself in "Too Good for This," which shamelessly calls up memories of her legendary solo, "The Music and the Mirror," in A Chorus Line.

There are also fine turns by Haven Burton as the group's increasingly frustrated coach -- she "aged out" of the Cougars at twenty-seven and now finds herself herding this band of elderly cats -- and Nancy Ticotin, looking not a day over forty as the group's spitfire, dancing up a storm with her twentysomething boyfriend in a tribute to autumnal romance. (It's part of the show's have-it-both-ways approach that we are constantly being told not to pigeonhole the elderly, but, apparently, having a spicy Latina bombshell on hand is perfectly okay. The show tries to spoof itself: "I'm always being stereotyped; hand me my castanets," she says. But still.) As the group's choreographic weak link, Lori Tan Chinn poignantly delivers "The Waters Rise," about her husband's dementia, a moment of truth that feels out of place among the show's manufactured situations and mechanical wisecracks. For example, everyone repairs to a 1950s night at a Chinese restaurant, largely so someone can say "It's like somebody combined Grease with Cocoon." With jokes like these, the producers seem to be targeting an audience at least as old as the members of Nifty Shades of Gray.

Comic and teary moments are alternated professionally, but in such calculated fashion that much of the material doesn't land satisfactorily. (One early scene, in which Burton tries to wrangle the group while they search for lost sweaters, whinge about the temperature, and wander down irrelevant conversational paths, is a gem of hilarity.) Much of the second act is concerned with a plot by Alison to turn the failing troupe into a clown act, with everyone rolling around on senior scooters. But all the protests about being allowed to keep one's dignity ring hollow in a show that doesn't prize senior citizens for their intelligence, experience, or wisdom, but instead, their ability to shake their booties like a bunch of spokesmodels. The songs -- music by Matthew Sklar, with additional contributions by the late Marvin Hamlisch and lyrics by Nell Benjamin -- are thoroughly professional, but they don't always make a strong impression. The clever opener, "A Number," in which everyone complains about being defined by their age, ends on an anticlimactic note, and "Follow Me to the Party," which puts everyone in a dance club called Hell, is cut off in the middle. "Princess" isn't strong enough to warrant its endless repetitions, and the Act I finale, "Swagger," in which everyone learns how to throw it around, performs exactly the same function as "Michael Jordan's Ball" in The Full Monty.

The production design is admirably slick without being glitzy or overbearing. David Rockwell's unit set, depicting a utility room in the Cougars' arena, converts swiftly and with a minimum of fuss into several other locations, including a television studio and that Chinese restaurant. Jason Lee Courson's projection design is used well, in the promotional videos made for each team member and in the stunning reveal of the arena's interior during the final sequence. As in his work for Mean Girls, Gregg Barnes demonstrates his knack for creating highly individual looks, using everyday materials, for each character. Kenneth Posner's lighting is understated in the book scenes and has just the right amount of flash in the musical numbers. Randy Hansen's sound design is marked by a sparkling intelligibility; time was, Paper Mill musicals were routinely compromised by muddy audio, but no longer.

Gifted with a game cast, infused with a relentlessly upbeat attitude, and created by topflight professionals, Half Time nevertheless shows the signs of a formula wearing thin. Scene after scene seems to come from another, better musical. Even if you never see it, let me assure you, you've seen it, possibly more than once. -- David Barbour