Jenifer Lewis

July 28, 2012

“Black Don’t Crack at 54 Below”

54 Below  –  July 24 – 28

Transporting me from the airport to my hotel when, in the 1990s, I went to Berlin for the first time, the taxi drove through the Brandenburg Gate. Though the driver couldn’t have seemed more blasé about the fact that traffic could once again move freely between East and West and that we were passing through one of the world’s iconic structures, I thought, “Wait a minute. This is momentous—there ought to be trumpets blaring.” Well, Jenifer Lewis is back on the New York nightlife scene. There ought to be trumpets blaring.

I do not equate Jenifer Lewis’s too-brief engagement at 54 Below to the freeing of millions of people held captive by a repressive dictatorship; however, in the sphere of entertainment, the news is beyond merely exciting. You see, though most people know her from her highly visible and successful career in films, television, and theatre, in the ’80s she wowed audiences in clubs around town—whether as a member of the cast of the 1983 David Zippel revue “It’s Better With a Band” or in her fabulous solo shows. More than just a singer, more than just an entertainer, and even more than just an artist, she was a powerful presence. And what a thrill it was to be in that presence.

Fast forward a couple of decades or so to her new show, which Lewis wrote with Mark Alton Brown, and we find her powers not one iota diminished and her performance not a touch less thrilling. And she looks great—as she, herself, acknowledges in the show’s title song, “Black Don’t Crack,” strutting across the stage then capping it off with a high kick. This marvelous piece was written by Jenifer Lewis and Marc Shaiman, the show’s musical director and, at the piano, sole accompanist. Though no slouch in the powerhouse talent department, himself, Shaiman performs this role with gentle, unassuming grace—a calm counterbalance to the dynamo that is Lewis.

With inserted references to crazy things she‘s done—among them what she did on stage one evening when she was one of Bette Midler’s Harlettes—Lewis makes a terrific number out of Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy.” And with Shaiman’s “The 11 O’Clock Number,” itself a rousing tribute to that theatrical device, she does just what 11 o’clock numbers are supposed to do—she raises the roof and brings the house down.

The evening is filled with humor. Some of it is based on Lewis’s stage persona: Diva! Though over the years a number of performers have, in their acts, loudly proclaimed their divadom, nearly all of them have come across as unconvincing copycats. Lewis, however, is the real thing. No, not really a diva. (On the contrary, if I’m any judge of people, I believe she’s actually one hell of a human being.) Rather, she’s mastered the art of playing a diva—and she does it with a wink: after an outrageously self-satisfied remark she’ll smile for a moment to show she doesn’t mean it, then follow that immediately with a glaring look. Works every time. And her patter is hilarious—including an anecdote about being interviewed by a young journalist and an account of a very thorough physical exam her doctor gave her.

Like other great musical comedians, she can also move us to tears. Her rendition of Irving Berlin’s “I Got Lost in His Arms” is very touching—see what trenchant use she makes of a pause. Not only is her original song “Grandma Small” affecting in its own right, her approach to it illustrates her command as an artist. She leads into the song, and captures our hearts, by telling us about her own grandmother, who was a source of inspiration and emotional fuel. She ends that set-up with an unexpectedly funny line; the line and the stark contrast get the big laugh they deserve. Then she starts the song and immediately has our hearts again. A lesser talent would have had difficulty turning on a dime like that and taking the audience along with her.

Though the evening may offer more laughs than just about any other show in town, it can also boast more passion and human spirit. Both qualities make her performance of “I Know Where I’ve Been” (Shaiman, Scott Wittman, from Hairspray) a knockout. And when she closes with Phyllis Molinari and Artie Butler’s “Here’s to Life,” she’s not just singing and acting; she’s delivering a personal manifesto.

It has been twenty years since Jenifer Lewis last performed in a club in Manhattan. May her next hiatus be measured in weeks, not years.

 


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About the Author

Roy Sander has been covering cabaret and theatre for over thirty years. He’s written cabaret and theatre reviews, features, and commentary for seven print publications, most notably Back Stage, and for CitySearch on the Internet. He covered cabaret monthly on “New York Theatre Review” on PBS TV, and cabaret and theatre weekly on WLIM-FM radio. He was twice a guest instructor at the London School of Musical Theatre. A critic for BistroAwards.com, he is also the site’s Reviews Editor; in addition, he is Chairman of the Advisory Board of MAC.