Review by Carol Rocamora…
There are many ways to tell a life story on stage. In this season alone, we have several bio-musicals devoted to show business superstars: A Wonderful Life, which tells Louis Armstrong’s story chronologically; and Just in Time, featuring Bobby Darrin giving a sensational night club floor show with flashbacks.
But the latest newcomer, entitled Lights Out, now playing at the New York Theatre Workshop, offers the most ambitious – as well as risky – approach. It features the great singer/entertainer Nat “King” Cole (played by a mellow-voiced Dulé Hill) on a momentous night in his stellar career. Set in 1957 in the NBC studio of the TV show that bears his name, it’s the final Christmastime broadcast – not only of its second season, but also of the show itself, having failed to attract a national sponsor.
Lights Out begins with the stage manager (Elliott Maddox) announcing the fifteen-minute call before the actual live broadcasting begins (the elaborate set, designed by Clint Ramos, features a splendid eight-piece band). But what happens after that call comes as a surprise: a surreal “fever dream” takes possession of the famous singer as he faces this final half-hour with fear and dread. The dream – lasting ninety minutes stage time, but only a few minutes in Cole’s mind – brings back the people who have mattered most to him throughout his career. They include guest performers on his show like Betty Hutton, Peggy Lee, Eartha Kitt, and Billy Preston – as well as family members, including Cole’s mother and daughter.
The guest appearance that dominates these fevered moments, however, is that of Sammy Davis, Jr. played by the spectacular Daniel J. Watts, whose resemblance to the original performer is uncanny and whose energy blows just about everyone else off the stage (except the show’s host). In a series of encounters, Davis challenges Cole’s insistence that his job is to entertain. “Your job is to reflect the times,” Davis encourages him, urging Cole to seize the opportunity and address the issue of racism that is seething underneath the smooth veneer of Cole’s entertainment style. “What is everyone so afraid of?” Davis challenges him. “It’s your silence that is strangling you.”
The performances of Dulé Hill as Cole and Daniel J. Watt’s as Davis are so electrifying, so appealing, that one can overlook a few murky moments in Colman Domingo and Patricia McGregor’s ambitious script that jumps back and forth in time, between reality and fever dream. With his warm, silky-smooth voice and relaxed style, Hill charms us with “swoony” Cole classics like “I Wish You Love,” Somewhere Along the Way, “Smile”, “Nature Boy,” “L-O-V-E,”, “Straighten Up and Fly Right.” And the spectacular tap-dancing duet between Cole and Davis to “Me and My Shadow,” choreographed by Jared Grimes, brought the audience to its feet on the night we attended.
Added entertainment highlights include Betty Hutton (played by Ruby Lewis) singing “Anything You Can Do” (an Irving Berlin oldie); Cole’s mother (Kenita Millar) singing “Smash Bam Alakazam”; “Unforgettable”, a sweet duet with Cole and his daughter Natalie (Krystal Joy Brown),;and an enchanting “Blueberry Hill” that Cole sings with an eleven-year-old Billy Preston (played by Walter Russell III). All are directed with style and flourish by Patrica McGregor (with superb musical arrangements by John McDaniel).
But the determined co-writers Domingo and McGregor have a deeply serious agenda, offering a troubling prophecy of the future. Cole’s surreal vision includes a nightmarish flash-forward, too, when he imagines the advent of a new sponsor on his show, featuring a cigarette called “Lights Out” that includes a demeaning message about black people. That grotesque moment is followed by a threatening vision of future violence, performed by a company of dancers.
Ultimately, Cole awakes from his fever dream to a new realization. “Madison Avenue is afraid of the dark,” he says, forbidding his dresser to apply the light powder to his face that she normally does before the show. “We are not out there in the streets, raising banners, risking our lives,” Cole tells his producer. “THIS is our front line. In this little half hour … an act of quiet revolution. There’s no time for easy anymore.”
With that, he sings the show’s final song: ”The Party’s Over,” with its lyrics foreshadowing the decade to come: “Now you must wake up, all dreams must end/Take off your make-up, the party’s over/It’s all over, my friend.”
Hopefully, this thought-provoking musical that premiered at the People’s Light & Theatre Company (in Malvern, PA) in 2017, currently running at New York Theater Workshop, will find a well-deserved future life uptown. In other words, the lights aren’t out yet.