Adam Shapiro

December 25, 2012

“Guide to the Perfect Breakup”

The Duplex  –  November 8, 15, December 30, January 30

Comedy is a funny business—and in this instance I don’t mean funny-haha. It is extremely difficult to do well. (Yes, I’m stating the obvious, something we are all well aware of.) In the everyday civilian world, when we say that someone knows how to tell a joke, we don’t mean that he has an arsenal of good material; we are saying that he knows how to present jokes in such a way that the humor lands. That requires mastery of several skills, among them: set-up, pacing, timing, stylistic choice (e.g., boffo vs. wry), physical delivery, etc. The same holds true for musical comedy. I’ve often said that it isn’t enough to sing a funny song; you have to be funny. By which I didn’t mean that you need a good sense of humor; I meant that you must know how to be funny, how to put the comedy across. (Indeed, the material itself needn’t even be funny—recall how Sidney Myer has us laughing just by the way he says “Good evening,” or what hilarity he can summon up with a non-comical piece.) Well, Adam Shapiro knows how to do musical comedy. Adam Shapiro is funny—and in this instance I do mean funny-haha.

I’ve been aware of Shapiro’s considerable talent for a while, having seen him perform many times over the past few years. I was reminded of it again when I saw his latest show, “Guide to the Perfect Breakup,” which was directed by Peter Napolitano. Near the top of the show, he tells us that breakups are messy and painful because people do them the wrong way, and over the course of the evening we are given his ten rules for the perfect breakup—such as “Be direct,” “Be sensitive and tactful,” and “Control your anger.” Of course, each is the set-up for a musical number. These ten commandments are recited from the piano by musical director Barry Levitt, who delivers them with charm and an ever-so-slightly mischievous twinkle.

Shapiro’s prowess is evident throughout. With Fred Barton’s “Give My Best to the Blonde,” for example, each line is given a considered, specific reading, and he keeps the number nicely modulated by varying his delivery of the repeated title line. The same approach sets his interpretation of Marilyn Miller and Cheryl Hardwick’s “Making Love Alone” above others I’ve heard. He performs Lieber and Stoller’s “Don Juan” with an inspired use of props and choreography; the number is beyond adorable.

A “relationship medley” traces the lifecycle of a relationship from hopeful first meeting, through consummation [rather a Victorian term, eh?] to disenchantment, put-downs, and, finally, moving on. Drawn from bits of twenty-one songs, and told from both the male and female perspective, the medley is dexterously constructed and Shapiro performs it with great gusto, but as is characteristic of his technique, he never goes overboard. (An “anger medley” later on is less successful: Shapiro oozes with anger and fury, but uncharacteristically, the concept and performance strike but a single note.)

Except in very broad genres like slapstick and burlesque, being a good comic performer requires being able to explore nuance and communicate complexity. “Hey! Let’s Be Friends” (Scott Burkell, Paul Loesel) is a comic piece, and Shapiro plays the humor, but in addition he deftly brings to it a touch of pathos. On “If You Hadn’t, But You Did” (Jule Styne, Comden & Green), a realization of anger builds inside him as the song progresses, making his interpretation quite distinctive.

I believe that every skilled comedian has the makings of a fine serious actor (though I suspect the reverse is not true). Shapiro is a very good actor. He makes a strong emotional connection with “I Can’t Make You Love Me” (Mike Reid, Allen Shamblin) and turns in a poignant performance. His reading of Murray Grand and Elisse Boyd’s “Guess Who I Saw Today” is quietly, but deceptively, conversational, his cool surface masking the hurt and anger burning inside. This is one of the very, very few interpretations of this 60-year-old, thrice-familiar classic that succeeded in holding my interest. I was hoping that his delivery of the famous final line would be as striking as what preceded it; it wasn’t—though it was certainly unexceptionable. But I’d say that 99% is a very commendable grade.

 


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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.