Theatre in Review: Empire (New World Stages)

	Photo: Matthew Murphy

Empire, a musical about the problems of building a certain skyscraper at Fifth Avenue and 34th Street, could use an architectural review. Its book rests on a shaky foundation, is shoddily constructed, and relies on prefabricated materials; as it stands, it doesn't even rate as a fixer-upper.

Beginning with scrappily dressed revelers partying the night away at a scheduled-for-demolition Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, a certain confusion reigns. The number, "Heyday," provides little guidance beyond the songwriters' dependence on a rhyming dictionary. ("There's no stoppin' our top-shelf shoppin'/We'll keep on poppin' and a bippity boppin'") Eventually, we realize, the year is 1929, and everyone is celebrating the imminent groundbreaking of what will eventually be known as the Empire State Building. But, even as the chorus flirts with implausible rhymes for "heyday") ("play day," "sweet bouquet day," "get outta our way day," "ring-a-ding-zing day"), the stock market crashes, spreading depression across the land. Times are so tough even the subplots are malnourished.

Indeed, a major challenge with Empire involves identifying the main narrative thread among a maze of dead ends. Despite the economic malaise, the developer (also the former governor and failed presidential candidate) Al Smith wants to keep on going. "Setbacks give buildings and men strength," we are told. "We must go up when everyone is down; we must choose hope." So says Frances Belle "Wally" Wolodsky, Smith's right-hand woman and all-purpose fixer. (I assume she is a real historical figure, although an Internet search turns up nothing. Caroline Sherman and Robert Hull, authors of the book and score, have clearly done their research even if they aren't too deft about sharing it.) Thanks to the tart manner and certified Noo Yawk accent of Kaitlyn Davidson -- who really ought to get a crack at playing Fanny Brice one of these days -- Wally is all business, even when lying back on a desk and sexily scissor-kicking while ordering crucial materials. ("My concrete order's not complete/I'm sorry you can't handle the heat," she croons to one unlucky vendor.) If such behavior seems incongruous, remember: She's in a musical!

Wally, a sufficiently interesting character to anchor a much better show, is forced to share the stage with Sylvie Lee, who, jumping ahead to 1976, is in a fury because her daughter, Rayne, has become a card-carrying union construction worker. Sylvie's father died while working on the Empire State Building, dealing her a never-to-be-healed wound, and she fears the possibility of history repeating itself. (Rayne, who can only stay a minute, vanishes from the story until the finale, mooting the idea of mother-daughter conflict; that's one plot line down.) Looking through family memorabilia, Sylvie is mysteriously transported back to 1930 where, hanging out with Wally, she witnesses the events leading up to her dad's fatal fall. This time-traveling device is murky at best; Sylvie is there but not there, barely giving a moment's thought to her allegedly beloved parent (possibly because his identity isn't revealed to us until near the end). She similarly ignores her mother, who also figures in the story, preferring to chum around with Wally, with whom she is on disconcertingly intimate terms. The authors have no explanation for this.

Meanwhile, key plot points are delivered in such casual, throwaway fashion that they fail to land; chief among these is the gang of Mohawk tribesmen from Quebec enlisted to do the building's ironwork. (This interesting historical fact is particularly relevant to Sylvie's story, for reasons left unexplained until the last possible moment.) In place of a clear, cohesive narrative, the plot is packed with irrelevancies, including Wally's nonstarter romance with the building's architect Charles Kinney, and the bickering between an Irish worker and his wife, who wants him to stay off the high girders and out of danger. Then there's Mrs. Janet Arthur, a society matron who thinks Smith's project will ruin the neighborhood. As played by Alexandra Frohlinger, she slinks onstage, one hand raised as if grasping a cigarette holder, speaking in a voice that recalls Jean Hagen in Singin' in the Rain. ("I cahhnt stahhnd it," she sneers, fretting about what a towering skyscraper will do to "my grahhnd boulevard.") It's typical of the show's storytelling that her opposition goes nowhere and her single solo ("Protect What's Mine") could easily be cut.

Other points, which have far more bearing on the plot -- including a cross-dressing female construction worker and a clandestine interracial marriage -- are left dangling as the actors are put through their paces in a series of borrowed-goods musical numbers: Wally bucks up Smith and his co-developer John J. Raskob with a little toe-tapper titled "Moxie." ("We've got moxie and a melting pot of can do!") The song gets a reprise of sorts in the second act when Smith, at a low point, struggles to raise his failing spirits. ("Go get back your moxie/But first, drink this drink on the rocks-ie/Have a bagel and lox-ie.") The characters make a pit stop at a speakeasy where a sultry chanteuse murmurs lyrics seemingly written in some English-adjacent tongue. ("Cuz baby, when they hold us back with the whoa/The planet does not spin simpatico/Rap a'tap-tap on our front back door/Smoochie wooch your sweetie right on the main floor.") The jokes are commensurate with the maladroit lyrics. When Smith admires Mrs. Arthur's jeweled pin, she scornfully responds, "It's a brooch, Ex-Governor, haute couture." "Gesundheit," Smith replies. Later, Smith cracks, "I am part woman, you know. On my mother's side." No, really?

If Cady Huffman's direction does little to clarify matters, and Lorna Ventura's choreography often feels lifted from an anthology of standard musical theatre moves, the cast gives it their all. Davidson is briskly professional throughout and, at the performance I attended, understudy Julia Louise Hosack stepped into the thankless role of Sylvie with aplomb. Paul Salvatoriello is a lively Al Smith and Danny Iktomi Bevins brings some dignity to Jesse, a de facto leader of the Mohawk workers. That Irish couple at least benefits from being beautifully sung by Morgan Cowling and J Savage.

A more acute director might have addressed the disconnect between Walt Spangler's stark set design (an arrangement of girders and staircases) and Jamie Roderick's colorful, thoroughly musical comedy, lighting. (Roderick does pull off some nice backlighting effects here and there.) Tina McCartney's costumes get the job done but only just. Except for the dance number "Precision and Rhythm," Shannon Slaton's sound design is admirably clear; he also provides some vivid effects.

Nothing, however, distracts from the fact that Empire is a collection of story ideas waiting to be assembled into a coherent pattern. The product of what must be a substantial investment for Off Broadway, its ambitions far outstrip its achievements. To put it in terms that Wally would understand, it isn't up to code. --David Barbour