Theatre in Review: On the Twentieth Century (Roundabout Theatre Company/American Airlines Theatre)

	Kristin Chenoweth, Peter Gallager. Photo: Joan Marcus

All aboard at the Roundabout: The Twentieth Century Limited is once again leaving the station, booked with a full complement of chiselers, con artists, monomaniacs, and other forms of show folk. Inside a gleaming art deco train racing from Chicago to New York in a mere (for 1932) 16 hours, plots are hatched, swollen egos collide, and a $200,000 check, written by a lunatic, bounces like a rubber ball. And who is that sweet old lady slinking around, surreptitiously affixing stickers urging repentance, to every available surface? Scott Ellis' staging of this 1978 musical comedy gem is marred a bit by occasional stylistic slips, but, for the majority of its running time, this is strictly a pleasure excursion.

You probably know the plot, either from the classic film Twentieth Century, starring John Barrymore and Carole Lombard, or from the slightly less familiar play, which Roundabout revived in 2004. Oscar Jaffe, once the king of Broadway producers, is on the skids, thanks to too many flops. His latest, titled Joan of Arc's Problem, has just laid an ostrich-sized egg in its Chicago tryout, leaving Oscar in the red to the tune of $250,000. As always, however, he has a plan: He books a drawing room on the Twentieth Century Limited back to New York, next door to that of Lily Garland, Hollywood goddess and Oscar's erstwhile leading lady on and off stage. He knows that Lily's name on a contract will make bank vaults open to him once again. But Oscar and Lily are like dog and cat, oil and water, their long-running romance ruined over the question of who got star billing. Seizing on the idea of starring her in an epic drama about Mary Magdalene, he has 16 hours to woo the hostile Lily any way he can.

Librettists Betty Comden and Adolph Green and composer Cy Coleman had the counterintuitive idea to turn this 1930s show-business farce into an operetta, with Coleman's grandly scaled melodies mocking the characters' overwrought emotions. Lily and Oscar are always, always acting -- in one ballad, they even note, "Our private world is like a play about a pair of lovers" -- and they can't help edging each other out of the spotlight.

Obviously, a pair of star temperaments is needed for these roles, and here Ellis' production is golden. That Peter Gallagher's Oscar is a fully cured ham is obvious from his first entrance, clinging to the exterior of the moving train. Whether denouncing his confederates as traitors ("Look at the two of you; Judas Iscariot and his sister Sue!"); staggering around, envisioning his tragic future selling pencils in Shubert Alley; or pouring over a Bible in amazement ("You know, they don't write dialogue like this anymore"), he is a perfectly delightful monument to self-absorption. His singing voice is a tad light for the role, but he nevertheless makes the most of his numbers, especially when waving away his enemies ("I spit at them/Spray Flit at them!") denouncing Lily for being seduced by "ermine-vested, vermin-infested" Hollywood.

Kristin Chenoweth is ideally cast as Lily, swanning about, pushing her boyfriend out of press photos, brandishing her Academy Award as a potential weapon, and imagining herself starring in a Somerset Maugham potboiler as a wealthy Mayfair playgirl, hoisting a cigarette and cocktail, and casting aside lovers while moaning about the shabbiness of it all. Her Lily is a petite demon, a bleach blonde imp of the perverse, combining her pristine coloratura with enough rapid-fire bits of comic business to leave you gasping in admiration. (The number "Never," in which she announces her refusal to even meet with Oscar, is rather like a small tornado laying waste to the stage.) She also partners beautifully with Gallagher; watching them go at each other tooth and nail, it becomes clear that Lily and Oscar's emotional roughhousing is really a form of lovemaking.

Ellis has also provided Chenoweth and Gallagher with a prime set of playmates. Mary Louise Wilson, severe of face with a glint of mischief in her eyes, is Letitia Primrose -- of Primrose's Restoria Pills -- the certified lunatic who agrees to finance Oscar's nonexistent Magdalene epic. She turns religious mania into cause for hilarity in the number "Repent;" she also makes a showstopping appearance on the train's cowcatcher during the frantic Act II chase sequence "She's a Nut." Andy Karl shows off his nimble way with physical gags as Bruce Granit, Lily's Hollywood costar and cardboard lover, who never leaves a room without leaving his publicity photo on the wall. The sight of him using Chenoweth as a barbell, performing arm curls, is one I won't soon forget. (She smokes nonchalantly throughout.) Michael McGrath is a treat as Oscar's permanently pickled, wisecracking press agent -- martini in hand, he executes a perfect spit-take -- as is Mark Linn-Baker as his frantic company manager. Show fans will also enjoy Jim Walton as the train's conductor, Andy Taylor as a lecherous senator, and Linda Mugleston as a doctor, all of whom keep bursting into Oscar's drawing room, brandishing unreadable plays they want him to produce.

Having seen the original Hal Prince production of On the Twentieth Century during its Boston tryout, I feel honor bound to point out certain areas where the production falls short. I regret the deletion of the opening scene, in which Oscar's Joan of Arc drama is interrupted when the last audience member leaves the theatre. Choreographer Warren Carlyle's handling of the four tap-dancing redcaps, who function as a kind of Greek chorus, is sensational, particularly in the second-act opener, "Life is Like a Train." But his handling of the propulsive title tune is unimaginative and he fumbles with "Veronique," seen in a flashback, in which Lily achieves stardom playing the young lady "who precipitates the entire Franco-Prussian War by refusing to smile at Otto von Bismarck." The number, which is hilarious when played perfectly straight, is weighed down with too many silly bits of business, such as Chenoweth smiling and waving at the audience. The first couple of scenes featuring Lily and Bruce are played too broadly, although both performers quickly hit their stride. William Ivey Long's costumes are highly variable -- he has some knockout creations for Lily and beautifully tailored suits for the men, but he goes way over the top in the number "Babette," making an ensemble of snooty Mayfair matrons look like drag queens. And, for some reason, Oscar's riotous eleven o'clock number, "The Legacy," in which he makes his final bequests, has acquired a new set of lyrics and a new title ("Because of Her"), by Green's daughter Amanda. It isn't a patch on the original, and it weakens Gallagher's performance just when it should be hitting its peak. And Hershy Kay's glorious original orchestrations have been thinned down to 14 musicians, losing some of the score's richness.

Still, all of these complaints have a way of fading when Gallagher is concocting a fake suicide scheme or when Chenoweth is chasing after him, vengeance personified. David Rockwell's set spins an entire train around to reveal a stunning art deco interior; other fine touches include a dazzling art deco show curtain and an Arc de Triomphe covered with lights. Donald Holder's lighting adds an extra patina of glamour while maintain the right hard, bright atmosphere for farce. Jon Weston's sound design allows us to hear every delectable word.

It has been a gift from the theatre gods to have two Comden and Green shows this season, the other being On the Town. Their special brand of malice-free satire is on full display here, and what a glorious thing it is. I don't care if it is March; if you see it, you're practically guaranteed to leave the theatre in a holiday mood. -- David Barbour