Review
Barefoot in the Park
at the Cort Theatre
February 14, 2006
by Morgan Wycks
mwycks@nyconstage.org
Neil Simon's Barefoot in the Park is the penultimate sitcom. To bring it back to Broadway is a risky venture indeed. Scott Elliott, a director adept at reviving works from the last few decades, has chosen a nostalgic look at an era of innocence on the verge of turbulence and on occasion it works. Starting with the music choices, how appropriate it is to have Corie, the young newlywed in her first apartment, decorating the Washington Square atelier to Petula Clark's warbling of "Downtown". Then there's the work of the Supremes, Jerry Lewis and the Playboys and other pop tunes from the mid-60's slyly sneaked into certain scenes commenting on the action. The highs and lows of the comic timing abilities of the cast aside, those tunes were the only pleasure of my experience with this production.
Expert actors all, Amanda Peet, Patrick Wilson, Jill Clayburgh, and Tony Roberts each are able to get enough laughs out of their performances but at the same time are each slightly miscast. Ms. Peet is too smart for Corie; Mr. Wilson too with it for her husband, Paul; Ms. Clayburgh too sexy for the mother, Mrs. Banks; and Mr. Roberts too Mr. Roberts for the bohemian Victor Velasco. They are not helped by Mr. Elliott in the second act where he either is going for something that's simply not in the writing or doesn't understand the comedy when more than two people are on stage. Ms. Peet and Clayburgh are not helped by the unflattering clothes of Isaac Mizrahi, Ms.Peet wearing Barbie outfits that fit her as well as those clothes actually fit the doll and Ms. Clayburgh … well, ditto. Derek McLane's set is initially right but after its decoration, gives the impression that Corie has rotten taste and frankly, I don't think Ikea had yet crossed the pond.
But then again, the innocence of the time is evoked in this production - multi-colored daisies blossom, the dial lights up on the sleek princess phone, the lamps bend and twist, and oh, those spinning 45's.
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