Avenue Q
Adulthood is horrible in every way, save for the refuge of cursing and self abuse. So says Avenue Q (music and lyrics by creators Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx; book by Jeff Whitty), except funnier. Now at the Box Theater, director Kevin Fitzhenry leads a talented cast and their bevy of puppets appendages-deep into an unsanctioned (and for good reason) parody of a beloved children’s television show, teaching young adults about the many ways in which life after college completely sucks.
First and foremost, it wouldn’t be Shmesshamee Shmeet without puppets, and designer Mark Konwinski deserves accolades for making the felt and fur fly in this supremely appointed production. At the center of the story is Princeton (Eric Niece), fresh from college and unable to conceive of a world in which New York City isn’t lavishly draping opportunities at his feet. Short on income, he follows the alphabetical Manhattan streets down, getting all the way to Q before finding a sufficiently cheap dump for the misbegotten. There he meets plenty of other deferred dreamers, colorful characters with problems that form teaching moments: pretty, single Kate Monster (Andrea Thibodeau) is fed up with anti-monster prejudice and wants to open a school especially for her kind; whereas roommates Rod (Niece again) and Nicky (Steve Xander Carson) have a question mark hanging over their hetero best friendship. Overall, the puppeteer-actors strike a fine balance between creating believable entities and developing empathetic characters. Niece makes for a winning leading man, carrying two major roles with staggering ease and winning the viewer over with expressive singing. A solid vocalist with fine timing, Thibodeau’s best work is as the uninhibited jiggly cabaret singer Lucy; her Kate declines to heighten the expected beats of a neurotic romantic lead. Great vocal range and mimicry only accounts for half of Carson’s impressively familiar-sounding performance, paired with puppet mastery in an amazing partnership with Tim Stone. Whether in tandem work on the same puppet or as a duo of bad-influence bears, they make it easy to forget the black-clad actors supplying these expressive voices and movements — some of which, it must be reiterated, are not remotely appropriate for younger ears and eyes.
Although the most sensational of the risqué material is left to the detached otherness of the puppet characters, the handful of live-action Avenue residents have their own boundary pushing to contend with, which comes with the uneasiness of actually inhabiting some appalling notions. The walking stereotype of Christmas Eve — a thickly Japanese-accented emasculating shrew — is a tall order for the plainly funny and vocally capable Lauren Fuller, who ever-so-faintly betrays her squeamishness at finding an appropriate place on the spectrum between downplayed mispronunciation and Mickey Rooney–in–Breakfast at Tiffany’s extremity. Fuller has a natural rapport with wannabe comedian and dedicated slacker Brian (Casey Hibbert), who’s failed so thoroughly at a losing game that he seems to be proud; the two bounce off each other well, making their harmonious antagonism fun to watch. But it’s Yana Levovna who takes the cake as the building superintendent, television’s Gary Coleman: the actor sidesteps cross-gender and cross-race casting discomfort by making her performance about well-executed affectations in service of a celebrity impression, selling Gary’s hilarious strut with utter confidence.
Any viewer who has even been a child or in relative proximity to one should pick up on myriad references to the (once again, most definitely unauthorized) source material, from Konwinski’s carefully reminiscent puppet creations to Fitzhenry’s brownstone backdrop. Scenes are moved along by oh-so-familiar video vignettes, animated by Mark Lopez, that prove one can make just about anything inappropriate. Although the band (keyboard/conductor Thomas Curry and drummer Dave Zwolinski) keeps in lock step with the performers without fail, other tech elements are not so generous, including unreliable sound and shifty lights (by John Forlini and Fitzhenry, respectively). Despite the admitted potential for distraction, to a certain extent the volatility actually agrees with the show; flawlessly slick execution wouldn’t seem right for this material.
For the disenfranchised, essentially watching your stupid dreamy potential-filled childhood get held down and pooped on can be surprisingly refreshing. Although this Avenue Q occasionally hesitates at the edge of the political correctness quagmire, it passes the filthy test with flying rainbow colors. Fitzhenry and company use jarringly sunny positivity to deliver a competent production absent any pretense of refinement or polish, the ideal vehicle for humor so vitriolic it would spit in cynicism’s eye.
May 19, 2012