Grease

[May 16th, 2007] The first run of Stumptown Stages' reunion-themed production of Grease—in which most of the actors are old enough to be Sandra Dee's parents—was an overwhelming success. WW contributor Stephen Marc Beaudoin wasn't so keen on the show, though, and his negative review elicited more angry letters than any other has during my tenure as stage editor. Readers took particular offense at Beaudoin's claim that Corey Brunish had "zero sex appeal" as Danny Zuko. One letter compared Stephen to American Idol's Simon Cowell; another, from someone claiming to be Brunish's ex-wife, came with a stack of glamour shots intended to prove that Brunish is, in fact, a sex god. The writers were all united on one point: "Your review is dead wrong!" Now Grease has been extended through June 30 at the World Trade Center, and I dropped by to see what all the fuss is about.

The production's move to the one performance venue in town with foldout desks helps make the high-school-reunion conceit stick. Before curtain, cast members wander through the audience handing out name tags; mine said "Lonnie." It's the first sign of Director Kirk Mouser's determination to focus on the camp and corn in what could be a moving and disturbing play, but that's OK—the band is great, the songs are well performed, and Amy Palomino's choreography is up to her usual high standard.

Here's the problem: Corey Brunish is a very handsome, middle-aged man with a nice voice; Danny Zuko is a loutish 17-year-old with the libido of a bonobo. Greasing up Brunish's hair and sticking him in a leather jacket doesn't give you Danny or John Travolta (unless you're talking about Travolta's sad turn in Wild Hogs). It's a spectacle that's more pathetic than sexy, especially when he's sharing the stage with the smokin'-hot, athletic young Nartan Woods (Kenickie), whose back flips and rippling muscles secure him a monopoly on sex appeal. I can't say whether the same goes for Margie Boulé as Sandy—she was out of town the night I saw the show, but her twentysomething understudy, Carrie Baldwin-Sayre, gave a fine performance.

Fortunately for Brunish, he doesn't have to worry that he looks silly—the show is thoroughly stolen by minor characters, from the talented Woods and velvet-voiced James Wesley Peppers (Roger) to the hilarious Patricia Price-Yates (Miss Lynch) and Andrew Foster (Teen Angel), who brings down the house with a Sinatra-esque "Beauty School Dropout."

But despite a few excellent performances and killer songs, the show isn't much fun. The cast's energy drags painfully between songs, and the white hair and bald pates make it awfully difficult to suspend disbelief. On the Saturday evening I attended, the 30 people in the audience stayed quiet. The cast was obviously having a blast; if the same could be said of the spectators, this would be a great production. It isn't.