Susan Mosher

August 8, 2010

“The Great Daisy Theory”

Laurie Beechman Theatre – July 11, 25, August 15, 29

Susan Mosher comes to us with a one-woman autobiographical presentation that employs dialogue and song to tell about her life—from her childhood in southern California to landing a prominent role in Hairspray on Broadway. Points touched on along the way include her parents’ divorce, her mother’s problems (psychological and other), and through it all, her burning desire to make it to Broadway.

Although it is being presented in a cabaret setting, the show, which was directed by Matt Lenz, is more a theatre piece than a conventional cabaret show. The writing is wry and very funny, sometimes hilariously so, and every now and then comes a moment of searing emotional truth. Mosher delivers the dialogue—both comic and serious—with masterful timing and phrasing. And when telling of a fight she had with her mother, she recreates the scene as though it were an opera; that segment is pretty wonderful.

While a slew of talented musicians have contributed to the show (Ray Fellman supplies the musical direction and piano accompaniment, and the arrangements are by Fellman, John Boswell, Michael Orland, and Mark Hartman) the evening’s most successful aspect is its non-musical elements. One reason is that some of the musical selections are used merely as punctuation or illustration. So, we get a little bit of “Never Never Land” (Jule Styne, Comden & Green) when Mosher tells us that her parents permitted her to stay up late to watch Peter Pan on TV, a severely abridged “Camelot” (Lerner & Loewe) when we learn of her first experience going to live theatre, a touch of “Gotta Move” (Ray Davies, Peter Matz) when life on the home front became unbearable, etc. By their nature, brief excerpts are not as satisfying as complete songs.

There are other problems with the musical numbers, some to do with the arrangements, others with Mosher’s approach. To express her youthful craving to be free, she sings a medley of “Georgy Girl” (Jim Dale, Tom Springfield) and “White Bird” (David & Linda LaFlamme), with the two songs becoming intermixed. At this point in the show, other than the high-energy, super-bright opening number, we’ve had only song extracts, and the tone so far—indeed the dominant tone of the evening—has bordered on manic; it would be better if she would now sing just a complete, quiet ”Georgy Girl” to give us something we could land on for a spell.

From a technical perspective, a rapid-fire medley of just about every song from Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s Jesus Christ Superstar could, I suppose, be labeled a tour de force, but I found it overbearing—though at the performance I attended the audience laughed heartily through it and cheered at the end. She starts off doing “Love Me or Leave Me” (Gus Kahn, Walter Donaldson) as a parody of a cool jazz singer, but then her interpretation degenerates into burlesque and becomes heavy-handed—though, once again, the audience ate it up, as it did Mosher’s treatment of “Cry Me a River” (Arthur Hamilton), which starts off quirky and becomes insane. The crime with her approach to this last number is that the song is sung in reaction to an event of some significance to her, so a more emotionally grounded interpretation would be not only appropriate, but also more gratifying; I was ready to be sympathetic at that moment, but she blew the opportunity.

In relation to a very important event in her life, she sings James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” Her rendition starts off affectingly, then becomes part wail, part pitchy shrillness, before quieting down again. With some care, this treatment could be dramatically striking and exciting; however, as it is—especially in an evening filled with bigness, it comes across as excessive. If there were more quiet moments, more contrast, this number would be more effective.

In the theatrical shows she’s done that I’ve seen (SUDS, Back to Bacharach and David, Cashino, Hairspray) Mosher either chose or was called on to give fairly broad performances. Sometimes they were adroitly drawn and perfectly suited to the demands of the piece, but other times the result was less than ideal. The same mix is evident here. This show has marvelous moments, but others that need to be reconsidered. She should trust herself more; in some of her dialogue and in her touching and intimate rendition of the closing number, Iris DeMent’s “My Life,” she shows that she is fully capable of simplicity, honesty, and directness. And she should trust that the audience will go with her on that trip. Sometimes less really is more.

 


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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.