Stephen Sondheim is being tossed to the curb for Andrew Lloyd Webber.
The revival of Sondheim’s “Follies,” a surprise hit and a bright spot in an otherwise dreary fall, is grossing more than $1 million a week at the Marquis. I have no doubt it could survive the winter, pick up steam again in the spring and sweep the Tonys in June.
But “Follies” is ending its run in January to make way for the revival of Lloyd Webber’s “Evita,” starring Ricky Martin as Che.
“Follies” producers begged the Nederlanders, who own the Marquis, to let them stay. But the Nederlanders have long had a contract with the producers of “Evita,” and those producers aren’t inclined to search for another theater, since the Marquis has the advantage of being smack in the middle of Times Square.
“We want that frontage for a two-story picture of Ricky Martin,” says an “Evita” production source.
The Nederlanders are certainly impressed with the business “Follies” has been doing, but they stick by their word. Besides, they’ve had a long and profitable association with Lloyd Webber and they believe “Evita” has the potential to be a big peso-maker.
As one insider says, “What show would you bet on in the long run? Steve Sondheim and a bunch old ladies, or Andrew Lloyd Webber and Ricky Martin?”
Bitch.
But my source has a point.
Lloyd Webber has probably made more money from one note of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” than Sondheim has from all his musicals put together.
This production — directed by Michael Grandage, who won a Tony for “Red” — is supposed to be terrific. It ran a few years ago in London, where it won strong notices. Argentine actress Elena Roger, who’s playing Evita, is likely to be the toast of the town, and I’m sure Michael Cerveris will make a dynamic and terrifying Juan Peron.
No expense is being spared in this “Evita,” which will inevitably be compared to Hal Prince’s landmark 1978 production. The capitalization is said to be about $10 million with a weekly running cost of almost $700,000. I hear Martin is getting $75,000 a week and Cerveris, $25,000.
(If you’re reading this, Elena, call your agent to make sure you’re getting nothing less than $50,000!)
As for “Follies,” it’s being called a “homeless hit.”
All is not lost, however. The show’s producer, the Kennedy Center, is prepared to move the show if the right theater comes along (Studio 54, the Shubert, the Palace?).
That puts “Follies” in contention with another show seeking a theater — “Nice Work If You Can Get It,” starring Matthew Broderick as a Prohibition playboy.
(Cutting-edge material, I tell you.)
If I were the producers of “Nice Work If You Can Find a Theater,” I’d be hitting that bathtub gin.
It makes sense for a theater owner to ditch a Sondheim show for a Lloyd Webber. But that theater owner would have to be an idiot to pass up a Sondheim show that’s grossing $1 million a week for an old Gershwin catalog show about bootleggers.
To be fair, “Nice Work” may be s’wonderful. It may be s’marvelous. But come spring, I bet it’s still gonna be s’homeless.
I’ve been notified by the producers of “Relatively Speaking” that, after last week’s column on the toxic word-of-mouth enveloping the show, I am not — repeat not — invited to Thursday’s opening.
Do whatever you want to me, Brer Fox, but please, oh please, don’t throw me into that briar patch!
But I still have a job to do, so here’s what I hear:
* Woody Allen’s play, “Honeymoon Motel,” is strictly for the Borscht Belt circuit circa 1971.
* Ethan Coen’s “Talking Cure” isn’t so much a play as a doodle on the back of an envelope.
* Elaine May has pretty much taken over the direction of her play, “George Is Dead,” from the hapless John Turturro.
“She jumps up onstage and tells Marlo Thomas what to do,” says a source. “It’s a circus over there.”
“Relatively Speaking” is starting to remind me of another Elaine May play called “Taller Than a Dwarf,” which ran on Broadway in 2000.
Like “Relatively Speaking,” it opened with a strong advance but then capsized in the wake of bad reviews.
Wags are calling “Relatively Speaking” by its nickname, “Relatively Unspeakable.”
But, as a gift to the producers who’ve banned me from opening night, I hereby re-christen their play “Relatively Taller Than a Dwarf.”
Break a leg!