Maybe it’s a critical predilection to scrutinize everything, but the lyrics to “My Way” sound a bit disturbing in hindsight. Sure, it may not be as cringe-y as certain Cole Porter lyrics, but the trademark Sinatra tune raises an eyebrow as one gets older. As appealing as it sounds to live life without regret, the reality is that regret is a good thing because it can lead to you learn from your mistakes. Having no regrets suggests someone who doesn’t care how much damage they’ve caused. When someone’s on their death bed, they should be lucky enough to look back and see where they tried to improve themselves.
A peaceful death is luxury denied to The Plaids, the fictional quartet of the musical Forever Plaid (a 42nd Street production through May 5 at the Gateway Theatre, SF). We learn at the start of the show that the Four Seasons-esque quartet were on their way to their first big gig in the ‘60s (shortly before The Beatles appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show) when their tour bus crashed, taking the lives of all four Plaids—so named because of the patterned sport coats they hadn’t even worn yet.
In the realm between life and the hereafter, they’re finally given a chance to play their big show for an audience. Specifically, we audience members gathered in the theatre. Over the next 90-or-so minutes, they’ll share with us their multiple neuroses, their covers for unproduced albums, their dreams of Perry Como-like stardom, and their hand-picked collection of doo-wop tunes.
Forever Plaid is one of those shows it’s weird to write about because, by design, it’s short on substance. I was reminded of the musical Encore, which was also a pastiche of older era entertainment with characters who seem to weave in and out of what little narrative there is. We learn that, as all dead people do, The Plaids have left a great many unfinished things in their lives. Yet playwright Stuart Ross doesn’t seem all that interested in exploring them in detail, lest the “downer” nature of some of the stories ruin the family-friendly show. As such, talk of dysfunctional homes and hints of abuse are tread upon lightly. (Possibly a nod to an era when those discussions were rarely had openly, but more likely just minimized to keep the show light.)
The faux-concert play is an iffy prospect—A Night with Janis Joplin was one of the few to do it well. In fact, that show also had a bit of a supernatural narrative, even though it was meant to be more or less played straight as a proper Joplin concert. The Plaids’ concert begins after spectral quartet walk through the audience as an odd means of coming to terms with their now-ended lives. They then take to the prepped stage (as designed by Justin Kelley-Cahill, it almost resembles the décor of a ’60s-era variety show) to work their way through a collection of four-part harmony classics with not-always-well-choreographed movement.
The voices are always good. The four (Matt Skinner, Kevin Singer, Justin P. Lopez, and Edu Gonzalez-Moldonado) definitely have the pipes for their roles, even if they don’t have much to do character-wise. They seem to have been directed by company Executive Director Daniel Thomas to just “go big” at various levels of Jerry Lewis-style mugging that keeps with the attempted light tone; something further sought after when interacting with audience members (one of whom is brought on stage to perform “Heart and Soul” on the piano).
Between those “big” performances and overall tone, it suggests a show that had the opportunity to make commentary about entertainment from days gone by, but chose be a tribute rather than a thorough examination. When the four begin singing Caribbean songs, there’s no awareness of the cultural sensitivity they’re ignoring. As the show premiered in the ‘80s (not the most enlightened time, as I recall), that’s not very surprising.
The house wasn’t full for the opening night performance, but I was glad to not be the only one masked. Roughly 1/3 of us were covered up in a crowed that skewed mostly elderly, with at least two elementary-age kids in attendance. By the end of the 90-min., intermission-free show, my Aranet4’s CO² readings hit 1540ppm. Not the worst, but not the best.
Before the show began, director Daniel Thomas told us that this show was his swan song at 42nd Street Moon. Upon reflection, that explains a lot about the light production: small cast, simple set, two-person band, and a short running time. All of it speaks to going out on a simple, clear note. Thomas wanted to have fun, and one can’t fault him for that. The audience certainly seemed to enjoy it. Just don’t expect anything more than what you see on the surface.
FOREVER PLAID runs through May 5 at the Gateway Theatre, SF. Tickets and further info here.
