The Cher Show is the latest edition to
the subgene of jukebox musicals that celebrate the life and career of a pop
icon, or singing group. If the best of those focusing on an individual is the
still-running and generally excellent Beautiful, about Carole King, The
Cher Show occupies the mediocre mid-range.
Its
book, by Rick Elice, exploits a very common trope, the
utilization of three actresses in the title role, one for the young career (Micaela
Diamond), one for the heyday career (Teal Wicks) and in center
position as an emotional fulcrum point for all three, one for the
mature-and/or-“comeback” career (Stephanie J. Block). The gimmick setting this particular
formulation off from the rest in this genre—likewise a well-used trope of
dramatic writing, though one that isn’t common to jukebox-biographies—is that the three
Chers interact with each other in the manner of three different characters.
There’s not a lot of tension between them, though; mostly they trade off being
each other's support system and unlicensed therapist. Various other actors,
cast singly, play key figures, each in a range of ages, occasionally even
stepping out of time: For example, the final encounter with Sonny Bono (Jarrod
Spector) happens after he’s dead.
The
bio-reduction of Act One is perfunctory and, I thought, kind of dull; but it
perks up significantly in Act Two. In terms of casting (everybody’s swell),
choreography (Christopher Gatelli), musicianship (supervisor-directors Daryl
Walters and Andrew Resnick), design (many), and direction (Jason
Moore), The Cher Show is every bit the slick package it needs to be
to attract the crowd it means to attract—as it continues to run, the balance gradually tending
much more toward general-audience, pop-music fans than general theatregoers—and
to satisfactorily give them their money’s worth.
Not
to be dismissive, it absolutely earns its keep, but it also absolutely is what
it is. And what it is represents a kind of theatre that is now a
well-established part of the landscape. Nothing any critic says will have the
slightest bearing on the success of such an enterprise (except possibly the
expression of praise that puts it in the Beautiful class; quotes toward
an even longer run). Not unless the show is tawdry or a train wreck or something
less than a polished, narrative, evening-log music video. And The Cher Show is
never less than that. And in moments, it’s a little bit more. A little bit.
Thus,
it is mine to dutifully acknowledge that, for those whom it will make
happy—there are many, many—and move on.
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