We're Off to See "The Wiz"

Last night we took the Woodyettes to see a local PTA production of "The Wiz." Like "Annie" last year, it was a chance for the Woodyettes to see a couple of their friends from church perform in a theatrical production, and they enjoyed it. So did I, but probably for different reasons.

"The Wiz" was created as a Broadway musical during the middle of the 70's and the "blaxploitation" craze of that period. It featured an all-black cast, hipper music, and plenty of jive. It was considered "ground-breaking" I suspect for those reasons. Three years later, Motown Productions bought the film rights, and Diana Ross muscled her way into the role of Dorothy (a huge stretch). As a musical on Broadway it enjoyed moderate success, running for four years. As a film it flopped pretty badly. Michael Jackson had a good turn as the Scarecrow, and Nipsey Russell was pretty funny as the Cowardly Lion. Diana Ross just never did anything for me as Dorothy. 'Course, I've never been a huge Diana Ross fan in general.

The real problem is that both the musical and the film were extremely topical. The heavily jive-oriented dialogue and ultra-hip settings probably made the show more of a curiousity than a "must see." The film relied on a fantasized version of New York's Harlem for its setting of Oz, and just never worked for me. The music is utterly forgettable, except for the thematic thread "Ease on Down the Road."

Fast-forward about thirty years and the show has taken on a new life. It's cute — quaint, even — to talk jive now. To hear a bunch of kids (of varying colors) spouting this dialogue, complete with all the attitude and ebonic-related head and arm movements, is pretty darned funny. The show is therefore enjoying a second life as a kind of window into the history of black America, with multi-cultural casts doing just as well with the material as the original casts did on Broadway (and, arguably, better than the film cast).

The PTA that sponsored this event covers at least a couple of schools, including a middle school, and the cast reflected that mix. The principles tended to be sixth or seventh grade kids, and the chorus made liberal use of every kid from kindergarten on. Woody was a Munchkin in the other musical version waaay back, and Woody still has a soft spot in his heart for Munchkins even if they wear funky clothes and talk funny.

The Woodyettes found their friends during the chorus appearances (Munchkins and Poppies. Oy.), but immersed themselves in the story right away. They both got a kick out of the Wicked Witch of the West, who is really a caricature in this story and much more funny than scary. Jelly had fun watching the Scarecrow. Doodle was more interested in having spotted her friend in the chorus, but watched the show intently nonetheless. Generally perched on my knee for visibility. (No stadium seating in a smallish community forum, y'know.) Mrs. Woody has that wonderful feminine ability to enjoy the show not so much on its merits, but on the earnest efforts of the kids involved.

Woody has a different problem. Having been an actor in community theater for (nearly) forty years now, I can't just sit back and immerse myself in a story. I watch the actors. Even among kids I'm looking for the stand-outs, probably because I was considered one myself. I spotted a few "keep yer eyes on this one" kids in this show that really seem to have a flair for stage work. I hope they pursue it. Chief among them was one thirteenish girl who appeared as one of the "Yellow Brick Road" dancers. These were six girls of varying age who had better-than-average dance skills. This particular girl, though, was not only a good dancer, but had her stage game on. She kept a dazzling smile on her face, and her moves were designed to project the intent of the choreography. Mrs. Woody spotted her as well, and we both agreed that this kid could go far.

Another firecracker was a smallish boy — second or third grade, perhaps — who was cast as the Funky Monkey. This kid came out with some hip-hop moves that were downright impressive, and he was clearly an audience favorite. Being so young his delivery of lines was nowhere near as impressive as his moves, but, hey, the kid is only maybe six or seven years old. Give him time. He has stage presence.

Woody also sympathizes with community productions because there are always things that don't work well. The sets were solid in this show, and the colors reflected the still-psychodelic look of the 70's pretty well. There were, unfortunately, miking problems, particularly for the Tin Man. The Lion had some wardrobe problems, and spent most of the show trying to keep his mane tucked up under his chin so no one would see his neck.

Still, it's fun to watch a bunch of small kids shuffle onto the stage, go through a few simple steps, and wave surreptitiously at Mom and Dad in the audience. It reminds Woody that all the world is, indeed, a stage. If we are merely players, may we all have as much fun as these kids did last night.

#164 - How to Age. Rapidly.

Step 1. Have your son, whom you have not seen much in the last couple of years, invite you to be one of his "friends" on Facebook.com.

Step 2. Register, with much trepidation, at Facebook.com. Have fears about getting sucked into a "MySpace" with a different interface.

Step 3. Have fears somewhat ameliorated by the fact that Mitt Romney, LDS Stud Presidential Candidate, also has a Facebook.com page.

Step 4. Log on and check out son's page.

Step 5. Realize, quickly, what a fogey you have become in the last three years.

Step 6. In fact, begin comparing yourself with your own father, who wasn't much older than this when his hair turned nearly silver. Like, overnight. Begin wondering just how much you, personally, contributed to this color change.

Step 7. Further realize that, after only a moments' consideration, you're beginning to think of retirement in terms of "sooner" rather than "later." Also, that minivan you're contemplating buying is beginning to look sexier than your average Ferrari. Ferarri. Whatever.

Yes, I have officially joined the ranks of the Fogeys of America (FoA). You might have thought having a daughter that is not only married but has presented me with a beautiful granddaughter older than both of my other daughters would have qualified me for fogeyism long before now. But, no. It's always the boys that turn Dads into living fossils. Trust me on this.

Yes, I joke about getting a shotgun so I can be cleaning it casually whenever my daughters' future Interested Hunks begin calling and I answer the door. I still have a few years before that particular nightmare kicks in. But my son...

Well. I can only say that I immediately went into Father Reactive Mode. I posted a note on his Facebook.com page: "This is your father. Get a job. Get a haircut. Look more like me. Only thinner. This has been your Father update." It was a kneejerk sort of thing. Then I decided I'd better say something that showed I was interested in his life. I considered all the options. "Considered military school, lately?" Or, "Hey, I understand there's an opening at the local library! That oughta be a chick magnet, hm?"

But of course I copped out. I asked about his current girlfriend, then realized she was in the pictures on his page. I haven't decided yet who has more body piercings. This, I think, is the ultimate fogey-indicator. My wife only has piercings in her ears. My son has them in places I'm pretty sure were listed in the "Thou shalt nots" section of the Ten or So Commandments. "Hope things are going smoothly" I think I said. "Much love."

And I meant it. I love my son, however different from my own life his may be. Certainly this was not how I envisioned things when my only namesake - he who would continue the Woody name - reached the age where his idea of high style reminds me forcefully of a half-shaved poodle. Looks like Britney Spears became a dog groomer only to give up halfway through her first job so she could rot in rehab.

No. Really. I love my son. He's a bit on the goofy side, but what teenage boy isn't? I certainly had my moments when I was that age. Fortunately, I had those moments in the highlands of Guatemala and no one noticed. And my journals are sealed.

So, in summary, I aged about fifteen years this morning. Next entry: "That's 'Geezer,' not 'Geyser,' Sonny. I Have Dentures Older Than You..."

#160 - How to Effect Miraculous Healing in Children - UPDATED

Jelly slept on the couch last night. She's been fighting nasty allergies since Saturday, and began running a fever around about bed time last night. So we let her sleep on the couch. This way she can be relatively close to Mommy and Daddy without actually invading Mom and Dad's turf.

I was actually up until nearly dawn myself because I'm under another nasty deadline. I'm always under some nasty deadline or other; a condition exacerbated by the fact that my team of five programmers has over the past 18 months been whittled down to two. The other programmer is just as busy as I am and she's about to go on a short medical leave next month. If that works she'll be out on maternity leave by the end of the year. Whee.

So I watched my daughter sleeping restlessly while her fevers broke, returned, and broke again. Finally she appeared to be winning her battle. I had my own victory in the form of a delivery to my customer at around 4:00 this morning, so I went in to bed.

Jelly has all the earmarks of allergies turned to flu or cold. She's been listless all day, dozing on and off on the same couch and grimacing appropriately whenever Daddy presents her with the nasty orange-flavored (loosely speaking) medicine. She has also been upset because our plan was to take the girls to Toys-R-Us tonight and let them cash in their Christmas gift cards from Grandma and Grandpa Z.

After Jelly's somewhat longer afternoon nap, I decided she was probably feeling enough better that a little motivation might be in order. Mommy led off. "Well, Daddy, what do you think?"

"Oh, I think we probably ought to go."

Like a shot, Jelly catapulted from her sick bed and began dancing around the house. She bounded into her clothes, threw on some socks and shoes, and wondered why, oh why was no one ready to leave?? Like, NOW?? The rest of us grumbled about needing potty time and (for Mommy and Daddy) a chance to stretch our stiffened musculature.

It's by no means a complete victory. Jelly is still pretty shnuffly. She's just much happier right now.

The miracle of modern medicine.

UPDATE: Mrs. Woody reminded me that the story is not entirely accurate; or, at least, that I left out one critical element of the story. Jelly did not obtain what she was looking for last night. We went to Toys-R-Us, then Target (right next door), then ultimately had to order the item online. I'll be stopping by the Walton Family Empire on my way home from work today to see if they have one.

The point is, she remained bubbly - if somewhat disappointed - for the remainder of the evening. Especially when Doodle let her big sister help play with her new toys.

My kids are terrific.