It's tricky putting someone's life on stage. Especially if they're quite famous, because growling watchdogs of accuracy will leap on your presentation of the facts, which almost always have to be fudged a little for the sake of drama. In the case of George Gershwin Alone, Hershey Felder's solo, 90-minute excursion through the life of the composer of the title, who died at a very young 38, you almost wish there were more created drama. The man's life, like many, is completely interesting, but through Felder's pedestrian material, you would think the guy was dull and not terribly worthy of his own show.
To be fair, the play resists sensationalism, which is quite welcome, especially on Broadway. The tone of the play is inviting, and director Joel Zwick provides an elegant backdrop for the events. With the aid of set designer Yael Pardess, the living room setting is just familiar enough to cozy up to the tale. The problem is that the tale's familiarity.
Felder looks quite a bit like the real Gershwin, but his soul doesn't really match. Many of Mr. Gershwin's tunes can be heard throughout, like "Embraceable You," "I Got Rhythm," "Fascinating Rhythm" and the belle of them all, "Rhapsody in Blue" (performed most erratically at the finale in entirety, but even half baked, the song still stirs). Felder's adaptation of the biographical elements of Gershwin are typical, run-of-the-mill "it was a great time" kinda stuff. His delivery is perfectly unassuming, but there's no fire in the details. We get the standard Jewish mother jokes, the inside references, and the process of creation (this is the best stuff), but we don't get what made the guy tick. How did Gershwin, a man savaged by critics in his day, get the notoriety he has right now? The show never quite answers that query, leaving a gaping hole in its center.
Felder is a more comfortable pianist than singer (he hits some pretty sour notes at times), but that is intentional, or at least I found it to be. Gershwin reportedly sang his ditties off-key, and while it's a bold move, it doesn't always work in a one-man show with nothing else to divert us. Sometimes you wish the songs (rapturous as they are) would be allowed to speak more for themselves; the play too often holds your hand through its history, highlighting every single thing so you don't miss it -- an informative but labored agenda.
The play doesn't amount to much overall and still manages to feel too small even for the tiny Helen Hayes Theater, and yet, I would still take a nebbishy guy plunking on a piano to a bunch of overly caffeinated horn-blowing college jocks victimizing me at the exits of a would-be "revue" any day. But that's just me.
