The last Broadway revival of “La Cage aux Folles” was a little more than five years ago, so it’s not as if anybody was clamoring for another go-round, no matter how beloved Jerry Herman’s score is.
But since the scaled-down London import that opened last night lets us see Olivier-winning star Douglas Hodge in action, we’ll take it. Kelsey Grammer may be the draw for local audiences, but the show is Hodge’s alone.
Hodge plays the irrepressibly campy Albin, who at night turns into Zaza, the star of the drag revue at the titular Riviera nightclub. He lives with his partner of 20 years, Georges (Grammer), whose son — the result of a brief heterosexual mishap — wants to marry the daughter of a conservative politician. Clearly, this is going to create problems.
READ MORE ABOUT THE SHOW ON THE POST’S THEATER BLOG
Hodge exposes the mix of rage, fear and uncertainty underneath Zaza’s sequins, but that’s almost expected in this type of semi-revisionist production. Having Brits look for the dark lining in the silver cloud has become as predictable as Americans going for the flash that dominated Jerry Zaks and Jerry Mitchell’s take in 2004.
More interesting is that Hodge reveals — and revels in — the absolute joy Albin gets from being onstage. This feeling is spelled out early on in “A Little More Mascara,” but throughout the show Hodge lets us see and hear how Albin can’t not perform — and how he can’t conform to stereotypical masculinity, either.
Hodge is all the more spectacular because he isn’t getting much from his co-star.
Grammer’s refined, genteel persona would seem like a perfect fit for Georges. But the actor looks more stiff than necessary; his Georges calls Albin “my love” while holding him at an emotional arm’s’ length.
Terry Johnson’s direction is equally unbalanced.
The idea is that this La Cage is a small, slightly tacky joint instead of a grand establishment, and the six chorus girls, the Cagelles, are muscular fellows who can do routines with feathered fans and punch you out.
Lynne Page’s choreography has a rough-hewn charm but, overall, the La Cage numbers are neither sophisticated nor coarse enough. Nor did drag queens of the ’70s (when the action is set) have such gym-dandy bodies — some of these Cagelles look like they’re on steroids.
And yet the show entertains. The supporting cast — particularly Robin De Jesus, equally deadpan and flaming as the butler/maid Jacob — is top-notch. Harvey Fierstein’s book, which celebrates nonconformity and generosity, still resonates, while Herman’s songs are downright unsinkable. When Albin powers through the anthemic “I Am What I Am,” he turns pride into a shield, but also a weapon. And it’s an absolute thrill.
elisabeth.vincentelli
@nypost.com