So many divas: 32 in Alan Palmer’s one-man show. That’s about 2.7 minutes per diva.
In “Fabulous Divas of Broadway,” Mr. Palmer, who wrote and directed, presents the singers and the songs that form the soundtrack of his life. Inviting the audience at St. Luke’s Theater to join him in skits and games, he brings volunteers onstage or calls for a Mad Libs list of nouns and adjectives, turning “What I Did for Love” into “What I Did for Rutabagas” or “What I Did for Duluth.”
The evening was made for fun but doesn’t always hit the target; the comic backstage anecdotes are more original than the musical caricatures. Still, Mr. Palmer, in a career of chorus lines, shipboard revues and acting, choreographing and directing jobs, has had plenty of practice. Wigs fly — and sometimes an eyelash droops — in his behind-the-folding-screen wardrobe changes. The costumes, by C. Buckey, and the wigs, by Ingrid Bakis, supply fleeting illusions of the personalities, with Annie’s red dress or Mrs. Lovett’s topknot. Judy becomes Liza becomes Cher, as Mr. Palmer glides across the stage on pumps or roller skates so fast that the spotlight has trouble following him.
A touch of laryngitis at a preview a few weeks ago (the show opened on Feb. 27) made his voice sound stretched in the belting Merman-Streisand-style numbers. He blamed the hoarseness on the move from his home in Los Angeles, where “Fabulous Divas” ran for five months. More appealing were sweeter songs, like “The Boy Next Door” and “Distant Melody,” adroitly accompanied by his pianist, Curtis Jerome.
Space doesn’t allow mention of all the honorees at this divathon. Patti LuPone and Angela Lansbury — and one divo, Harvey Fierstein — make appearances, along with newer stars like Stephanie D’Abruzzo (“Avenue Q”) and Marissa Jaret Winokur (“Hairspray”). Non-Broadway prima donnas — Dr. Ruth, Judge Judy — interpret “Send In the Clowns,” and Bette Davis, in her best “what a dump” voice, brings it home: “Don’t bother.” Pause. “They’re here.”
At his best, Mr. Palmer does extract the essence of his chosen deities, but after more than 30 songs and about an hour of breathless pacing, it was a relief to hear “only two more to go.” A cabaret-length version might be better. And I’m sure, if the goddesses allowed, the world could happily say goodbye to Carol Channing impressions.
