Putting it Together

To put it bluntly, Putting It Together, the Stephen Sondheim "review" that just opened on Broadway, just isn't that well put together. A barrage of 35 of his greatest hits, including songs from Company, Merrily We Roll Along, A Little Night Music and Follies among others, is given tepid treatment, despite the mega-wattage of stars Carol Burnett, Bronson Pinchot, George Hearn and Ruthie Henshall. Quite honestly, I've never experienced Sondheim's admittedly wonderful music performed in such a bitter vein. Every song is presented with a middling piano-bar blandness, and only Burnett seems to have the built-in personality to put them over.

The show is really not a musical in a general sense, but more like a concert, despite Bob Crowley's Manhattan apartment set, which, even for the exceptional Crowley, doesn't serve much of a purpose other than to have its stars perform a level higher than the stage. After a promising and charming opening with Pinchot illustrating the do's and do nots of theatergoing (actually lifted from Sondheim's little-seen The Frogs), the show falls into a maudlin funk and never fully recovers. There are joys to be had to be sure. Some of the songs stand up in any presentation, and Burnett does a triumphant version of "The Ladies Who Lunch" from Company, that suggests more dimension than director Eric D. Schaeffer provides. It won't make you forget Elaine Stritch's unforgettable rendition, but it works.

The whole problem is a lack of musical vitality, even while the show credits Bob Avian for musical staging; there is a sameness to every number that grows tiresome. The performers are also all over the map. George Hearn may have won a Tony five years ago, but you'd never know it from his unbelievably wooden performance here. He barely moves during the show's two hours, instead delivering each song in an over-earnest, professional manner, which really isn't too fun to watch. Henshall is an engaging performer; she even suggests her recent Velma Kelly from Chicago on a few occasions, which is welcome, because this show needs a serious shot of adrenaline where it can. However, her singing-through-gritted-teeth style is distracting, and one senses she would rather be in a show that lets her really cut loose. John Barrowman, who plays the Younger Man, contrasting the other character's Wife (Burnett), Husband (Hearn), Younger Woman (Henshall) and Observer (Pinchot), was out the night I saw it, but his understudy, Peter Engel, suggested vapidity in a completely thankless role that I can't see anyone bringing much life to. Pinchot is real delight, however, but he is given nearly nothing to do. He has the least stage time, which is unfortunate, because he is a handsome, winning performer, who sadly gets only one big solo. I would have loved to see him perform more of the numbers, since his spirited style is always appreciated.

This is Burnett's first Broadway outing in decades, and she makes it worthwhile for her fans, but the show drains her of her naturally bold persona. Everyone underplays to the point of needing a transfusion, which is something that should never happen in a Broadway show, especially since nobody overacts better than Burnett does. It can get worse though. Every Tuesday beginning Dec. 7, Kathie Lee Gifford will perform the role of the Wife, in which case the show will probably be downright unwatchable. The fact that Gifford is going to be in the show at all exposes the perfect summation of it: a Las Vegas-style, canned trifle, except in this case, you can't get soused meanwhile or skip on next door to see Wayne Newton get down with his bad self.