PSYCHOBABBLE

PsychoBabble, which opened Thursday, May 29th at The Laurie Beechman Theatre [before moving to Broadway bay Bistro] is a forty-five minute session of free association musical therapy. The doctor is in, and he is none other than Sigmund Freud himself (played by a handsome painting of the great doctor and some witty lighting tricks). Not surprisingly, Dr. Freud is silent during the session, which disappoints the patient Evans, and to some extent, the audience. His voice would be a much appreciated addition to this underdeveloped Id of a show. Instead, here we are privy to the patient's whines, wants, and waterworks. After a needlessly lengthy piano intro played by the uber-talented Octavio Brunetti, Ms Evans dashes in from the back of the audience, skipping onto the stage in a state that can only be described as “hysterical,” a fitting Freudian tone.

She begins seductively singing “Hello, Doctor” to the tune of “Hello, Dolly!”-- almost intuiting a scandalous case of transference with Sigmund. Sadly, that theme is never explored. Effortlessly, the melody changes into the theme-setting title song, “PsychoBabble,” sung as a delicious parody of “Oklahoma!” These seamless transitions from one melody to the next, parodying multiple numbers from the great American Musical Theatre songbook, many times, at once, are the bedrock on which this show stands. In this way, the show uses the psycho-dynamic model of free association therapy to invent a new genre in musical theatre performance: Free association musical theatre. It’s fun, it’s exciting, it’s challenging, it’s humorous and it’s done exceptionally well here by both Nancy Evans and her pianist Brunetti and the co-creator of the show, Jeff Halpern.

The style is so strong that it enables Evans to need almost no exposition between numbers, and keeps the show moving at a steady and determined pace. Most of the patient's “talking” is actually done within the musical numbers not between them. This is a refreshing change from the many cabaret performances that sometimes lose their rhythm in the odd banter between songs. Much respect is deserved by Dennis Deal who directs this show, unafraid of unconventional segues. He relies on the randomness of this novel free-association model and, instead of outlining or molding isolated expressions, he just points it in interesting directions. We are never distracted by order, movement, silence, or light. The focus is always on Nancy Evans as the frustrated patient.

I was never sure as to who this patient is supposed to be, mostly because the show doesn't seem to think it is important to tell us anything about her. After 45 minutes, we know a lot about what she wants and we know some things about what she doesn't want. So, we know she wants sex, and we know she wants love. We know she wants to be more attractive, and we know she'd like to be fulfilled... Um, OK, so does everyone else in the world. This does not help us get any handle on the back-story of this person's life-- where she comes from, what she does, or who she is. Certainly we are more than the sum of our desires. It is this lack of human depth that is the fatal flaw throughout the show. People only have a certain amount of patience for an anonymous person complaining about all the things she wants in life. It is not enough to simply relate to the fact that we want the same things as this character; to tolerate her whining we have to have a vested interest in her. Evans is no doubt appealing, but she never succeeds in making us care about this character, or her wants, for that matter. We are introduced to the patient as a woman whose purse screams out to her, "Why was I born?" Meanwhile, we would all be better served if the purse asked the more basic question of, "Who are you?"

To calm my mind and to deter myself from falling into boredom (or, worse yet, annoyance), during the show I pretended that Nancy's character was none other than Chekhov's protagonist from The Seagull, Irina Nikolayevna Arkadina. Star of the dramatic stage, this diva must be in regular therapy. I imagined her introspecting about her life's purpose, analyzing her love life, juggling her mind-altering prescriptions, disclosing her sexual desires, and bemoaning her dysfunctional family life. I kept hoping that what I was seeing on stage would somehow coincide with the character I’d built up in my mind. This synthesis never happened. The patient in PsychoBabble resisted any chance to be anything more than a shell for some basic desires, boring complaints, and simplistic philosophizing. I never knew if she had a family, a job, an apartment--- or even a soul, for that matter. While the notion of Arkadina in therapy was a fascinating one, the whining patient on stage bordered on irritation. This only underscores the need for character focus in cabaret.

Other than this essential deficiency, most of the vehicles, tactics and choices worked extremely well. When Nancy sings her ode to drugs, in a patter that Sondheim would envy, the humor is evident. The real excitement starts when Evans takes off her glasses and performs, “I Like ‘Em Bald.” Her face becomes open and beaming with a knowing self-congratulatory manner while singing about her harmless kink. Every joke in the song lands, and there are plenty. Evans is so at home in this number that you feel she can pull this off in any context, in any show, with the same success. In this way, I question whether the number is using the show, or the show is using the number. I prefer the former, but if the latter works, so be it. The audience loved it, and so did I. I only wish she didn't put the glasses back on after the number was done. Her face is far more expressive without the glasses, and taking them off seemed to signify a first step in the physical manifestation of the unraveling of her psyche. Putting them back on, seemed premature and a step in the wrong direction.

Another high point in the show was her turning “I Remember It Well,” traditionally a comedic duet about the differences between the sexes, into a solo number about a person struggling to find meaning in experiences that she may not remember so perfectly. Nancy finds the right balance of comedy and concern, so as while you are laughing, you never forget the seriousness of what value our experiences have for us, if we can not remember them. The idea of making memory a sub-theme in her therapy session keeps things current. Memory is on the forefront of modern day psychology, and lends itself to musical theatre in a wonderful way.

Any questions of whether the show itself can bring new life to its numbers are quelled and completely satisfied by Nancy's unique and wonderful “Adelaide’s Lament.” It's a spruced-up “Lament,” incorporating the show’s signature free-association style, that reinvents, reinvigorates, and redirects an otherwise hackneyed number into a modern and relevant female comedic anthem. Adding to the rawness of Evans’ vocal delivery during this song, she starts taking off her clothing piece by piece, seemingly shedding herself on stage as her expression becomes more and more visceral. While this might be a gimmick for another performer or another play, PsychoBabble uses it as a poignant tactic that is neither contrived nor obvious. When Evans is just standing there in a long T-shirt, she has successfully synched the words, the music, her voice, and her presence to signify her psychological unraveling. This is the closest the show gets to a catharsis.

Evans’ voice is strongest and most pleasant when she is in her soprano range. Hers is a soprano that can tell a story, a perfect tool for musical theatre and cabaret. A master at the mic, she knows when to forsake it altogether. The sound throughout was impressive, and although the microphones were “wet” with reverb, her diction sounded perfect even in her talking and patter numbers. Like many lyrical sopranos, her belt was lacking. Evans compensated by turning most of her high belts into comedy. She has a distinct raspy, nasal shrill character belt that almost sounds like it’s coming out of another person. It's not a pretty sound. Thankfully, she uses it mostly in the first half of the show and retires it early. I would have recommended being even more conservative with it. Good character belts are a talent, and can be both funny and easy on the ears (just look at the cast of Avenue Q). Nancy negates her strong vocal prowess in other areas by overusing her character belt. It may serve for an easy laugh, but our ears are cringing in return.

Musically, the show ended on a jazzy note, which makes sense given that jazz is probably the original musical equivalent to free-association therapy. By the end you are very impressed with the vocal versatility and styling of Evans. However, what the end gains in style, it loses in content. There is a murky and confused frustration that the patient has with the therapist. This pseudo and underdeveloped conflict is only quasi-resolved with a silly, "two heads are better than one" mantra. The climax is not heart-warming, insightful, or exciting. What is worse is that, for all the talk of Freud, other than the free-association method, there really isn't all that much psychoanalysis. The brilliance of Sigmund Freud is the analysis of all this association, and the building of theory and concept. This is all lost on the patient. The only lasting message is that certainly the patient is in need of further sessions. The final sympathy is more with the therapist than with the patient, for we know that for him the whining will only continue.

The final diagnosis is a show with a great theme, a competent star, a brilliant new genre in musical medley, and fun energy, but no real character to root this concept in anything that we really care about. Psychoanalysis is infamous for demanding multiple sessions for many weeks in order to get anywhere significant. The same might be true about free-association musical cabaret. One 45-minute session may not really serve to get you anywhere. If a strong human force is not developed, nurtured, and expressed, then the audience becomes a sounding board for empty wants, whines and complaints. It’s no wonder why therapists charge over $200 just to have to sit and listen to such a session. I'm still wondering if some insurance company would reimburse the audience for enduring PsychoBabble...but then again, what good New York therapist takes insurance nowadays?