SEE or SKIP: Mamma Mia!
Venue: Broadway’s Broadhurst Theater, to Sept. 3, 2015
INFO: They said Cats would be now and forever—it wasn’t. They thought The Fantasticks would never end, then it did, then it didn’t, then it almost did again. Who’da thunk that Mamma Mia!, a Broadway mainstay since 2001 would say farewell? But off it goes in September, leaving behind millions of happy housewives bouncing along to “The Winner Takes it All,” “Money Money Money,” “Chiquitita” and other ABBA classics shoehorned into a determinately silly story about a mom, her bride-to-be daughter, and a wedding plan in Greece.
SEE Because:
Any Broadway show that runs 15 years is appealing to a lot of people and has caught the zeitgeist of something that goes beyond the merits of the show itself.
Mamma Mia! and The Producers were two reasons Broadway recovered so quickly after 9/11. People wanted tuneful fun and got it, double-barreled, from both shows.
“Slipping through My Fingers” is a wonderful song and makes for a good, touching scene between mother and daughter.
There’s an anything-to-please (and squeeze-in-a-tune) simplicity to Mamma Mia! that many overly busy modern musicals could learn something from.
You know the songs going in, and you’ll still be gladly humming them coming out.
The big production numbers begin like nothing much, but damned if they don’t develop into great, lively, head-bobbing fun.
The moonlit finale is lovely.
SKIP because:
The book is still shit. Okay, I’m no longer offended by the main storyline (mom was a slutty former hippie, so her daughter has no idea who her dad is); hey, it was the Sixties. But more than ever, I’m ticked off that the plot, such as it is, hinges on nobody being able to hold a conversation for more than 10 seconds. Every scene is “I have to tell you
something?” “What is it?” “No, wait, I’ll tell you later.” Basically, it’s 140 minutes of delay as an excuse to add more songs. Other jukebox musicals have done a much better job incorporating hits into their story.
If Mamma Mia! were being conceived and designed now, there’d be all sorts of projections and varied sets to create visual variety that complements the zany goings on. It’s almost shocking now to see how spartan the show’s mise en scene is—just aquatic colors in the backdrop and one set piece that turns around to be inside the club or outside the house. I guess we’re spoiled now by taking tech for granted, but when a show is so dependent on color and fun to get over, it’s odd to keep waiting for more visuals to goose up the party.
Just on principle. If Mamma Mia! hadn’t been such a smash, might we have been spared such junkbox musicals as Hot Feet, The Times They are a-Changin’ and Good Vibrations? More importantly, would producers have encouraged more original scores from composers and lyricists, rather than jerry-rigged books from slumming librettists to complement a mound of rights clearances?
Along with Buddy and Movin’ Out, Mamma Mia! is a grandmommy of the jukebox musical, and a lively, mostly entertaining one, to boot. I could live without the curtain-call megamix, but who among us won’t miss the lumps and goosebumps when some of those ABBA melodies swoop in?
