Critic Roundup — A WALK ON THE MOON, MUSIC CITY, CAMPING

Senior Critic Joey Sims has been busy catching shows around time. Here is what he thinks of three shows currently running Off-Broadway.

A WALK ON THE MOON

An intriguing political potency lurks on the edges of new musical Walk on the Moon, a mostly soft, reassuring bit of nostalgia-bait now running off-Broadway at the Laura Pels Theatre through August 22. 

Based on the 1999 film led by Diane Lane, Moon has been smoothly translated to the stage by original screenwriter Pamela Gray. Set in the summer of 1969, it centers on a Jewish housewife, Pearl (Talia Suskauer) who falls into an affair with free-spirited bohemian Walker (Sam Gravitte) over a summer in the Catskills. Discovering a new side to herself, Pearl is lured by the call of the nearby Woodstock festival—as is her daughter, Alison (Sophie Pollono), who is traversing her own journey of self-discovery and rebellion. 

The show’s relaxed setting of a modest bungalow in the “Borscht Belt,” comfily conjured by Tal Yarden’s charming set and Ricky Lurie’s vibrant costumes, makes for a pleasant theatrical world to spend time in. Gray’s narrative takes its sweet time getting started, yet these leisurely early scenes have a quiet poignancy. The lifestyle of Pearl and her television repairman husband, Marty (Max Chernin), is a modest one; the Jewish comforts of the bungalows offer like-minded community, for a people still unwelcome in certain spaces. 

Gray’s book conjures this social and cultural milieu with an unfailingly soft touch. Refreshingly, there are no heroes or villains in her narrative. Marty, for all his failings, is an essentially decent and honorable man, albeit a product of his times. And Pearl’s desperate need to escape is equally sympathetic, particularly in the context of a young marriage forced by unexpected pregnancy. The shifting social tides of the ‘60s also find an easy, unforced resonance with present day political upheaval. It is a time defined by radical optimism, and a younger generation beaten down by horrors who still dare to imagine a better future. 

Sadly, Gray’s strong adaptation and director Sheryl Kaller’s crisp staging are both let down by AnnMarie Milazzo’s merely serviceable music and lyrics. The songs often feel like unwelcome interruptions to Gray’s sharp dialogue, and the music struggles to land any similar emotional blows. At times I even wished I was watching a play adaptation of Gray’s film, rather than a musical. 

Only one of Milazzo’s numbers stands out: the scorching second act opener, “Ba Ba Ba Dah (Fine),” a stream-of-consciousness solo capturing Pearl at a wild peak of excitement and horniness. The tremendous Suskauer sells the hell out of this number, and is remarkable throughout, delivering a star-making turn. Suskauer’s work always feels deeply, heartbreakingly honest, even as Walk on the Moon succumbs to schmaltz in its final scenes.

MUSIC CITY

Midway through the first act of Music City, a rollicking new country musical that’s more enjoyable than it has any right to be, the story slows for a gentle moment of reflection.

A soft light envelopes the Wicked Tickle, the fictional honky-tonk East Nashville bar where Music City makes its setting. Bar owner Wyn (Julianne B. Merrill, also the show’s music supervisor) takes over on the keys, serenading us with a dreamy take on “Alone With You” Audience members are lured up from out of their seats, joining the cast members in a slow dance on all sides of St. Lukes Theater, here lovingly transformed into a bar environment by scenic designer Clifton Chadick. As Merrill sings, and the dancers sway, I am genuinely transported. 

Music City is strongest at moments like this one, when the music and the vibes take over. The show’s actual narrative leans on well-worn cliches: two down-on-their-luck brothers who hit it big, then struggle within the dark underbelly of the music industry. Peter Zinn’s book is solid enough when he hitting the obvious beats, but falters when he attempts anything more ambitious—an out-of-place second act sojourn into the military-industrial complex brings the show’s momentum to a screeching halt. 

But the music is the main attraction here, and songwriter J.T. Harding has adeptly repurposed his bevy of country hits (he’s written for Keith Urban, Blake Shelton and Kenny Chesney, among many others) for the stage, all of them crisply presented by director Eric Tucker. (Minimal choreography, by John Heginbotham, is mostly distracting.) And the performers sing the hell out of every single tune, particularly lead pair Stephen Michael Spencer and Lauren Pritchard, who show off both a pair of incredible voices and a natural, near-effortless chemistry. 

CAMPING

What’s the longest you’ve held a torch for a lover? Just kept on waiting, oh so patiently, for the day they might be ready?

In Victoria Lynne Barclay’s devastating new play Camping, Ari (Colby Minifie) has carried that flame for childhood friend Brit (Alice Kremelberg) over two plus decades. Life went on in the meantime, of course. Both women got married, each to mediocre and useless men. And both have children, adorable little ones whom they love and despise. A lot of life happened, most of it disappointing. But the two keep on circling back to the same shitty green tent, the one where they lost their virginity together at 15. (To the same guy. He took turns—with one condom.)

Camping is a brutally honest dissection of sexuality, patriarchy and sublimated desire, presented by Colt Coeur and acted to perfection by Minifie and Kremelberg. This unchanging tent, gradually collapsing in on itself as it deteriorates, comes to represent the cruel stasis of two women unable to grow or change. (The claustrophobic set is by Krit Robinson.) If Barclay piles on the misery a bit too heavily at times—do both women’s lives need to land in such wretched places?—she mostly strikes at unbearable truths with agonizing precision. 

A striking production, carefully guided by director Adrienne Campbell-Holt, manages to keep the action vibrant within one single enclosed space. Subtle costume changes (from Sarita P. Fellows) offer a huge assist, as does carefully evocative lighting (by Vittoria Orlando) that is often near-impercicipable yet so essential. But the passage of time is most palpable in the masterful physical work of Minifie, who transforms before our eyes between every scene. Minifie is a phenomenally gifted stage actress who, following time away on television, is once again gracing New York stages, having also dazzled off-Broadway last fall in The Wasp. May she never go away again.

A Walk on the Moon continues at the Laura Pels Theatre through August 22. Music City continues at St. Luke’s Theater through October 31. Camping continues at HERE Arts Center through July 11.