Last eve, I went to the Social Center Ballroom to see the annual variety show staged by the talent residing here in Geezerville. I use the term, talent, very loosely here. I paid $10 for a ticket and showed at the "theater" for open seating by the time printed on the ticket. I was in the second herd of cattle allowed into the Ballroom to secure a seat. If there is one thing that distinguishes the good folk of Geezerville, it is their propensity to show up early and stand in a queue. The sound is akin to a feedlot in the Texas Panhandle.
The theme for this year's Folly was "The Fabulous Fifties." Disclosure: the 1950s were my time. The music, the culture, and the icons are very important to this reviewer. Just as I have little tolerance for fools, I have little patience with those who trifle with what I hold dear.
The premise of the Folly — once it got started — was a pair of Geezerville residents (husband and wife) reminiscing about the "good old days" at their patio table here in Geezerville. Thus, the audience — including me — was given a haphazard variety show that couldn't make up its mind between verisimilitude and parody. Unfortunately, the performers and the director tried to have it both ways. That dog won't hunt.
The first act was an attempt to do a straight rendition of "Standing On The Corner" as if the Sunspots were The Four Lads. The four voices were unequal in strength and unharmonious at times. This is a bad combination and The Four Lads (the 3 still living) — luckily — should get a lawyer and sue.
Serving as good-looking girls parading around the quartet, I saw — for the first (and I hope the last) time — the Sunsations who segued into another hit by The Crew Cuts: "Sh-Boom." The Crew Cuts, like The Four Lads, hailed from Toronto, but both groups had a strong Italian presence. I heard The Four Lads in a live performance in 1962 and they made reference to their Italian roots. The Sunspots and the Sunsations need to worry about a visit from a guy named Vito from Bayonne, NJ. Vito would tell them to "knock it off or else."
The audience was then yanked into the world of radio in an inept transition and saw a rendition of "The Fibber McGee and Molly Show." The act was passable; I sat wondering how we got from early 1950s harmony to 1940s radio.
From 1940s radio, the next act took us, supposedly, to mid-1950s TV: "The Mickey Mouse Club." Two men and six women in mouse-ears that were a parody of the actual mouse-ears attempted to cavort in the manner of the original adolescent cast. Again, the Folly cast should be looking over their shoulders for Annette Funicello's attorney. Another defamation lawsuit should be in the works.
Next up, was a painful rendition of “The Ed Sullivan Show." The actor who played Sullivan did a passable impersonation (although without much hair). I got more interested until the "acts" followed. First up, was one of Elvis' performances on the show. The parody of Elvis as the old, bloated Elvis wasn't funny and killed my interest. The so-called Elvis onstage didn't even lip-synch "Hound Dog," but just stood there. The inability to decide between impersonation and parody left me cold and growing more impatient as the evening wore on. Next up, another Sullivan highlight: a hefty actress as Tiny Tim performing "Tip Toe Through The Tulips." Tiny Tim might have appreciated seeing himself in drag, but I didn't. The backbreaker came next. "Ed" introduced Myron Floren — accordionist with the Lawrence Welk Orchestra — who played (Can you guess?) "Lady of Spain" in straight fashion. The accordionist didn't look like Myron Floren. Welk's assistant conductor fluctuated between Czech-looking shirts and a tuxedo. This Myron Floren wannabe wore a nondescript brown suit. This schizoid experience that made me wonder if I would need Lithium to make it to the end. A trio purporting to be The McGuire Sisters sang "Sincerely." In all sincerity, the three impersonators should be glad that Sam (MoMo) Giancana, Phyllis McGuire's boyfriend, has gone to the great Bada Bing in the sky.
Finally, "Ed Sullivan" introduced an original act: a talented electric guitarist and vocalist and a talented bassist performed Wilbert Harrison's "Kansas City" (1959). This was not an impersonation. The singer was a white female and Wilbert Harrison was African-American. The bassist was my across-the-street neighbor and he played straight accompaniment for his partner. One of the greatest rock'n roll songs ever was not dishonored in the highlight of the evening to that point.
Unfortunately, the moment was brief. Another wacky transition took us to "The Jack Benny Show." The Benny impersonator was recycled from "The Ed Sullivan Show" and he caught some of Benny's voice inflections and mannerisms, but not quite. "Jack" shared an unfunny exchange with "Mr. Kitzel" (the henpecked neighbor portrayed by Arthur "Artie" Auerbach in the original shows). But, the worst moment had a white actor portray Eddie "Rochester" Anderson with his back to the stage wearing black gloves. The premise had "Rochester" calling "Mr. Benny" on the telephone from the golf course (? 1950s?) to check on Benny's progress in cleaning the house. The wily servant had beaten Benny at gin rummy and took his winnings in kind (housework). Jack Benny employed an African-American actor when it was the norm to hire a white actor in blackface. Jack Benny had other foils: Dennis Day, Phil Harris, Mary Livingston, and all of the Mel Blanc characters. The folly of trying to do an impersonation of Eddie "Rochester" Anderson was insulting. The writers and director had a multitude of skit options rather than "Rochester."
From "Jack Benny," we were yanked into a "Grand Ole Opry" broadcast with an ersatz collection of impersonators of Hank Williams, Minnie Pearl, and Miss Patsy Cline. By the time the Patsy Cline impersonator sang "Crazy" in a straight attempt, I was falling to pieces. When the Sun City Cloggers came out to stomp around to "San Antonio Rose" (1944), I had enough. Poor Bob Wills has gone to the great bandstand in the sky. I wished that I were with him. Instead, at the welcome intermission (with Acts II and III and most of the show) to follow, I took my coat and went home.
This review has been — for the most part — savage. I would not do this to an elementary school group of performers. I would not do this to a high school group of performers. I did not do this to the sole dramatic performance I attended thus far at the local liberal arts college. None of the above charged me $10 and gave me a terrible evening in return. Besides, these people were dissing the 1950s. Solution: don't go back. No more folly for me.
If this is (fair & balanced) criticism, so be it.
