As a native New Yorker and someone who loves singing Broadway tunes (at least in the privacy of my shower), I am one of musical theatre’s biggest fans. But for the last decade or so, even I have grown weary of the increasing lack of creativity when it comes to The Great White Way. Sure, there have been some beautiful originals—Once and The Book of Mormon come to mind—but the regurgitations have quickly outpaced the newly invented. The latest movie rip-offs to hit Broadway are based on two very different film blockbusters, the wickedly dark 1988 teen comedy Heathers and the 1995 romance The Bridges of Madison County, which was based on the 1992 best-selling novel by Robert James Waller. While neither may end up being best-musical material come Tony time, both shows sound like saucy fun—if only for the tornadoes of torrid romance in which their characters are swept up.
Heathers the Musical, which opened recently at New World Stages, tells the story of Veronica Sawyer, a teenage misfit who half-heartedly tries to work her way into a ruthless clique called The Heathers. After the leader of the group ostracizes her, Veronica falls for a mysterious new kid at school, J.D., who leads her down a devious and homicidal path of revenge. “Dear Diary: my teen-angst bullshit now has a body count,” is one of the most popular lines from the film, which starred a young Winona Ryder, Christian Slater and Shannen Doherty.
Heathers, whose music, lyrics and book were written by Laurence O’Keefe and Kevin Murphy, describes itself as a “truthful, uplifting parable for anyone who’s ever been in love, in trouble, or in high school.” A triple threat indeed.
If teenage angst is too much for you to handle, brace yourself for the angst of a Midwestern farm wife who must choose between her boring yet reliable life and the soulmate-caliber intimacy she forges with a mysterious stranger. Playing now at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, Bridges of Madison County the Musical is the tale of Francesca Johnson’s four-day love affair with smoldering photographer Robert Kincaid, who’s in town to do a feature on the state’s famous covered bridges.
The longing that hangs between the characters—like one of the drawbridges Robert is hired to photograph—is sexy and palpable.
Where the musical is lacking—it doesn’t have Meryl Streep, Clint Eastwood, or the steamy chemistry that sizzled between them in the movie—it makes up for with a beautiful songbook, written by Jason Robert and sung by Kelli O’Hara and Steven Pasquale. There’s real yearning in ballads like “Falling Into You” and “Who We Are & Who We Want to Be,” and the longing that hangs between the characters—like one of the drawbridges Robert is hired to photograph—is sexy and palpable. The musical fills in the mysteries of Kincaid’s life that were left blank in the film version, with the addition of a new character—his sad and lonely ex-wife—revealing something about this mystery man’s complicated history.
Directed by Barlett Sher, with a book by Marsha Norman and music and lyrics by Jason Robert Brown, Bridges taps into every housewife’s fantasy but ultimately justifies her decision to remain a good wife and mother. Was Waller playing it safe with the ending? Perhaps. But, unlike in the Heathers ending, at least there’s no body count.
As for me? I’m more of a drama girl who can’t wait to see James Franco and Chris O’Dowd in the latest Broadway reincarnation of Of Mice and Men. I’ll take a mentally retarded puppy killer over singing housewives anytime.
