It’s the difference between The Steak House and Panda Express. Some musical comedies stick to your ribs. Village’s “Once Upon a Time in New Jersey” is gone in 60 seconds.
This “Time in New Jersey” starts up this weekend at Everett Performing Arts Center. For a night out, it’ll do. For anything more, “Once” is enough.
You’d think a book, lyrics and music that were nine years in the making would result in something a whole heck of a lot more substantial than a copycat mix of “Grease,” “Happy Days” and “The Godfather.”
But the book and lyrics by Susan DiLallo posits a fairy-tale love triangle involving a shy but deserving Vinnie who loves an angel Angie who loves a stud-machine Rocco who loves himself in a Hoboken neighborhood populated by Italian stereotypes in 1956. Is it possible not to see where things are going?
As for the music by Stephen Weiner, think doodah girls and fantasy sequences from “Grease.” Add a little tongue-in-cheek to some “West Side Story” sincerity.
The problem here isn’t Village.
Christian Duhammel’s Vinnie is as sweetheart a slicer of salami as you could hope to find in a neighborhood deli. The guy’s a nerd with no cool but a straight shooter who makes you hurt when he hurts. Then again, when Duhammel hams it up as a wannabe Rocco, you can’t help but howl. Duhammel’s a hoot.
Angie could be just another in a line of dumb honeys who melt at Rocco’s feet. But Krystle Armstrong gets you rooting for her to smarten up, straighten up and fly right.
“The Fonz” without a conscience, that’s Dane Stockinger’s Rocco. Stockinger’s got the hips; the moves; the greasy, duck tailed pompadour, the black leather jacket and the tight jeans, cuffs turned up. He’s got it all and times ten and so outrageously so that forget the prototype. Like it or not, Stockinger, the Fonze model but mocked up, wins you over.
Bobbi Kotula is the deli mama who mothers everybody.
Carolyn Magoon perfects a softhearted, squeaky-voiced mobster’s squeeze and Rocco’s pushover. Born yesterday or old soul? Magoon leaves you guessing.
Eric Polani Jensen is Magoon’s Mafioso husband and wouldn’t amount to more than another Correlone tough-guy if he didn’t dance the “Tango” with Rocco-groupies, Nick DeSantis and Matt Shimkus. Talk about crime, the three of them murder Argentina’s national pastime. It ain’t pretty, but you bust a gut laughing.
Art Anderson’s interpretation of the title song provides the show’s smooth, silky, Sinatraesque lead-in.
Four inch-wide, shiny, black belts, tight-fitting Capri pants and stiletto heels outfit silly, sappy Charissa Bertels, Kristin Culp and Nicole Boote as Loretta, Conchetta and Etta, the show’s doodah girls. Why they make you laugh, I can’t explain. But oh, brother, do they.
R.J. Tancioco’s music sometimes buries DiLallo’s lyrics. The “Joisey” accent gets a little tiresome and sometimes in the way of understanding the words. Bill Forrester’s scenic designs give the show a minimal but friendly, comfortable, neighborhood look befitting the times. Harmony J.K. Arnold’s costumes work. Steve Tomkins’ Midas touch turns what isn’t dross into gold.
However, in the end, the material is coming from the head; and Village from the heart. In his Director’s notes, Tomkins says “… It was love at first sight…,” when he read the script. Well, sometimes, love is blind.
Reactions? Comments? E-mail Dale Burrows at grayghost7@comcast.net.
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