Theater critics have had their say about the Broadway version of "The Addams Family," which opened on April 8. The New York Daily News ("New Broadway Musical Just Festers") called it "half-baked and already nibbled," putting the blame on the directors for having forgotten that for the Addamses, "macabre is normal." The Hollywood Reporter ("The Addams Family: Theater Review"), which concluded that for this show, "artistic inspiration pretty much ended with the pitch meeting," found the plot hackneyed, the humor flat and the music forgettable. The New Yorker, on whose pages Charles Addams's ghoulish family were born, regretted that Addams's "poisoned brew" had been "turned into Kool-Aid" ("Festering: The 'Addams Family' Musical") and that "a lot of talented people associated with the musical have got the wrong end of Addams's shtick."
(On the plus side, people are buying tickets like crazy. Nathan Lane makes the patriarch Gomez Addams a charmer, apparently through sheer force of will. The sets, especially the Manhattan skyline, are swell; it's a very entertaining conceit that the Addamses are New Yorkers, their strange old house sitting somewhere in the middle of Central Park.)
BUT what no one that I've read so far has mentioned is the social gendercide. Dashing Gomez, wacky Uncle Fester (Kevin Chamberlin), seemingly undead Lurch (Zachary James) and evil little Pugsley (Adam Riegler) have remained in character. But the Addams women have been -- if you'll forgive a touch of anatomical irony -- castrated.
(On the plus side, people are buying tickets like crazy. Nathan Lane makes the patriarch Gomez Addams a charmer, apparently through sheer force of will. The sets, especially the Manhattan skyline, are swell; it's a very entertaining conceit that the Addamses are New Yorkers, their strange old house sitting somewhere in the middle of Central Park.)
BUT what no one that I've read so far has mentioned is the social gendercide. Dashing Gomez, wacky Uncle Fester (Kevin Chamberlin), seemingly undead Lurch (Zachary James) and evil little Pugsley (Adam Riegler) have remained in character. But the Addams women have been -- if you'll forgive a touch of anatomical irony -- castrated.
Morticia has been turned into just another insecure middle-aged housewife. Wednesday, who was Goth before Goth was cool, has grown up overnight, fallen in love with a bland, mainstream boy and now just wants love sweet love. At times it's surprising that there aren't bluebirds and woodland creatures singing and dancing at her feet. At other times she's a nag. Even Grandma (Jackie Hoffman) has been taken down a peg. Her humor, once inspired by proud who-gives-a-damn insanity, is now based on old-age indignities like incontinence. (Seriously. Her biggest laugh line is "I just peed.")
The people behind the Broadway "Addams Family" have said that the characters are derived from the original Addams cartoons, not the 1960s television series or the two 1990s feature films. So this gives Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, who wrote the book, an excuse for not producing the Morticia, Wednesday and Grandma that we loved to fear and respect. Cheers to Carolyn Jones, Anjelica Huston and Christina Ricci, among others. But Brickman and Elice's interpretation of the largely inscrutable female cartoon characters says a lot about their assumptions (or wishes?) about what goes on (or should?) in women's minds.
As a result, the most inspiring woman in the Broadway show is Alice Beineke (Carmello), Wednesday's boyfriend's mother. Alice, who looks right at home in yellow, is so relentlessly sweet that she can't help writing and reciting insipid little poems in the middle of normal conversations. But during dinner, she undergoes a transformation.
Grandma offers her little grandson a powerful potion: "One sip of this and Mary Poppins turns into Medea." Pugsley intends it for Wednesday (apparently he's not that crazy about her new personality either), but Alice drinks it instead, and a lifetime of repressed emotions comes pouring out in her big number, "Waiting." Lurch's hand somehow ends up on Alice's breast. And she passes out on the dining room table. Unconscious but empowered.
The people behind the Broadway "Addams Family" have said that the characters are derived from the original Addams cartoons, not the 1960s television series or the two 1990s feature films. So this gives Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, who wrote the book, an excuse for not producing the Morticia, Wednesday and Grandma that we loved to fear and respect. Cheers to Carolyn Jones, Anjelica Huston and Christina Ricci, among others. But Brickman and Elice's interpretation of the largely inscrutable female cartoon characters says a lot about their assumptions (or wishes?) about what goes on (or should?) in women's minds.
As a result, the most inspiring woman in the Broadway show is Alice Beineke (Carmello), Wednesday's boyfriend's mother. Alice, who looks right at home in yellow, is so relentlessly sweet that she can't help writing and reciting insipid little poems in the middle of normal conversations. But during dinner, she undergoes a transformation.
Grandma offers her little grandson a powerful potion: "One sip of this and Mary Poppins turns into Medea." Pugsley intends it for Wednesday (apparently he's not that crazy about her new personality either), but Alice drinks it instead, and a lifetime of repressed emotions comes pouring out in her big number, "Waiting." Lurch's hand somehow ends up on Alice's breast. And she passes out on the dining room table. Unconscious but empowered.




