American Psycho: A minimalist's guide to love and murder.

American Psycho is the latest entry in the sub-genre of serial-killer musicals.  I really wasn't planning on seeing this show but an interesting article in the Times inspired a ticket purchase. Based on the controversial novel by Bret Easton Ellis, the idea of this show is ridiculous from the get go. So it's strange that it made for such an engaging experience.

The producers embraced the strangeness at every turn, starting with the set (designed by Es Devlin); a beautiful, minimalist white living space that created tension just with the knowledge that later, someone will have to get the blood out. And there is definitely blood, including a nifty trick with a clear scrim, but I won't ruin that surprise. The set does delightful tricks throughout the show. Like in the second act when it transforms into a pool in the Hamptons that is so lux, so sleek, so sexy that those of us who aren't in the one percent can only look on longingly.

Of course, the set isn't the only star.  From the moment Benjamin Walker emerges as Patrick Bateman from a tanning bed and wearing only a pair of tighty whities, he is captivating and creepy. For the rest of the show, no matter how much you want to look away, you can't.  And Benjamin wasn't even my favorite performer in the show.  That distinction goes to Helene Yorke as the impossibly "superior" Evelyn Williams. A highlight is her performance of "You Are What You Wear," a snobbish rant dripping with luxury.

You can't talk about the cast without acknowledging that these actors are quadruple threats.  They're all perfectly talented at the singing, the dancing, and the acting.  But they're all also surprisingly comfortable doing all that in little more than underwear and a pair of hand weights.  Oh sure, Broadway actors tend to have sleek, handsome bodies.  But these are bodies that require hours at the gym.  These are physiques that actors perfect over months in order to star in some summer superhero blockbuster.  The extra physical refinements (along with some clever sex scenes) add to the sexuality of this show which only serves to heighten the tension.

So what about the music?  This isn't your traditional musical.  For starters, the voices and instruments are so processed, it sometimes feels more like a concert from an 80s synth band than from a theater on 45th Street.  But for the most part, Duncan Sheik's songs are likable and fueled by emotions, many of those emotions inspiring un-comfortableness.  That's largely what makes the music work. Still, there are moments when the songs turn toward the mundane and detracts from the spectacle.

I saw five shows this trip to New York.  American Psycho was a last, reluctant ticket. Turns out, it was my favorite thing I saw.  Sure it's not for everyone; I won't be suggesting my mom and her friends enjoy the Saturday matinee. But if you for a musical, theatrical shock, this does the trick.

A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder: A middleclass fantasy.

It’s already been a couple of months since my last visit to New York City.  And one thing that has stayed top of mind comes from an excursion to a Broadway show.  That show is A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder.  (Book and lyrics by Robert Freedman, music and lyrics by Steven Lutvak, directed by Darko Tresnjak.) Maybe the reason I’ve spent so much time thinking about this show is that I bought the soundtrack so I’ve had lots of time to get to know the music better. With that additional insight, you realize there’s something else going on here.  Because as you start to understand the show and its lyrics, Gentleman’s Guide starts to deliver a big wallop of social criticism.

It’s misleading at first.  As my friend Kelly Hindley noted after seeing the show, “Gentleman’s Guide was like getting to eat a giant bowl of your favorite dessert with no calories—just pure frothy delightful enjoyment.” And it is enjoyably frothy. But with closer inspection to the themes and ideas expressed in the show,  I felt like the musical might be a commentary on the struggling middle class, a treatise on the widening gulf between the haves and have-nots.

The basic premise of the story revolves around Monty Navarro, who as the show opens learns that his dead mother was a member of Britain’s illustrious D’Ysquith family, although she was disinherited for marrying a common Castilian musician. As the story unfolds, Monty learns that there are just eight people in line ahead of him to become Lord D’Ysquith. Soon, Monty Navarro is finding it surprisingly easy to murder those that stand in his way.

So how does this show embrace themes of rich vs. the middle class.  There are a few ways ways.  Like the way it muses about the privileged.  Some songs are scathing critiques of how clueless and heartless the rich can be.  Take I Don’t Understand the Poor sung by Lord Adalbert D’ysquith, the current Earl of Highhurst.  Here’s just a brief moment from this delightful song:

I don’t understand the poor.

And they’re constantly turning out more.

Every festering slum

In Christendom

Is disgorging its young by the score.

I suppose there are some with ambition.

Say, the pickpocket, beggar, or whore.

From what I can tell

They do quite well.

They’re rising above

And its work they love.

But I don’t understand the poor.

And if that’s not enough, there’s my favorite character in the show, Lady Hyacinth D’ysquith who is perfectly proper and delightfully offensive.  She performs Lady Hyacinth Abroad in which she asks for philanthropic ideas of how she can compete with her rich society lady friends. First, she heads to Egypt to start an orphanage in Cairo. Lady Hyacinth’s hopes are that her largess won’t go unnoticed, “The sniping will be stilled, and the empire will be filled with homes for bastard children in my name.”

When Egypt doesn’t work out, Lady Hyacinth heads to India where she imagines her own leper colony. “When we arrive they’ll hobble out to greet us, their toothless grins would melt a heart of stone! And every dilettante, will envy me and want a colony of lepers of her own!”

Still not satisfied, Lady Hyacinth leaves for deepest, darkest Africa to civilize a village in the jungle. “It can’t take long to learn their mother tongue! Of words they have but six, and five of them are clicks, and all of them are different words for dung!” She gets in one final dig calling out Daisy Greville, Lady Hyacinth’s arch, society nemesis who seems to have cornered all the best charitable opportunities. “It’s Daisy Greville’s loss. She’ll never come across, a tribe of backward natives worse than mine.”

My friends and I love to imagine my inner old lady, Gertrude.  I think Gertie would love to be Lady Hyacinth’s middle-class friend, lunching together at fancy restaurants and then returning to tell friends how "horribly delightful Hyacinth is."

These songs lambasting the rich for their insensitivity and cluelessness about how real people live are a refreshing message for us middle class types.  Maybe that’s because I can imaging Donald Trump or the republican leadership humming songs like I Don’t Understand the Poor as they take their morning showers. But there’s an even sneakier middle-class message being delivered in Gentleman’s Guide. Let's all keep in mind that amidst all this frothy fun, Monty Navarro is a serial killer.  And yet, the audience is on his side the entire show. You kinda want him to succeed.  And even when he’s put on trial for one of the murders (the only one he didn’t commit), he gets off scot-free, as show ends happily and Monty settles into his new life of largesse. Of course, now he has to worry about his demise.

Now I know this show is a send up.  But the fact that the mostly middle-class audience laughed delightedly as one privileged rich old white person after another died says something about the issues we face in the world today, particularly the ever growing divide between the rich and the rest of us.  And while I’m sure plenty of the world’s uber wealthy enjoyed and laughed at this show as much as I did, the message delivered here should at least have them looking over their shoulders at an increasingly frustrated and growing society of poor and middle-class people.