Was That A Big Rabbit or the Ghost of Steve Rubell?

Well, decades after it was a hot place, I finally got into Studio 54.  It figures that they would have to turn it into a legitimate theater before they'd let me through the front door.  No big bouncers on duty.  Just a couple of old matrons who must have shifted over from the Belasco.

I had to work overtime to prevent my presence in this formerly decadent venue from overshadowing what I really was there for.  To see one of the most revered plays in Broadway history.  Originally mounted in 1944.  The play and its author Mary Chase won the Pulitzer Prize in 1945.  Later turned into a movie around 1951 starring the legendary Jimmy Stewart, who then did it on Broadway in 1970 with the even more legendary Helen Hayes.  Other than that, "Harvey" is seen on the Great White Way almost as much as the rabbit who allegedly stars in the show itself.

And, this time around, the lead role of Elwood P. Dowd is being essayed by "Big Bang Theory" star and Emmy winner Jim Parsons.  This limited run playing out during Parsons' hiatus is certain to bring out an audience dying to see Sheldon Cooper on Broadway.  Let's face it.  The New York theater scene must now try to boost attendance by exploiting connections to the boob tube.  How else are they going to lure the tourists into a legitimate show?

Well, heck, it worked.  Not only are they sucking schmucks from Iowa and Nebraska in, they got me as well.  I love "The Big Bang Theory."  I wanted to see what Parsons was going to do with this historic role.  One of the rare moments where some idiot from Oklahoma and I might be riding in the same boat.

But, of course, the first order of business was to survey the ghostly venue I was entering.  The Roundabout Theater Company has been using Studio 54 as a place for its offerings over the past decade or so.  I'm sure there was some refurbishment that was needed.  Clean up the crusted vomit in the bathroom grout.  Wipe down the bathrroom walls where drug-addled patrons might have missed their urinary receptacle targets.  Oh, and what are those faded white powdery lines on the carpet?

Well, they spruced up the place as much as possible.  But, it's still a theater built early in the 20th century when no one in New York City was apparently taller than 5 foot-6 inches.  Leg room at Studio 54 was more difficult to find than Liza Minnelli's phone number on the door of a bathroom stall.  Meanwhile, this place features some of the most treacherous stairways ever constructed.  Who were the original contractors?  Moe, Larry, and Shemp???

Okay, I'm currently a little conflicted in stair access thanks to the ongoing meniscus-less left knee and resulting patella tendonitis.  Yet, even an athete going to this summer's London Olympics would have been hard pressed not to hold onto a bannister while climbing to the awkwardly constructed front mezzanine. 

Meanwhile, that section in itself is a Six Flags thrill ride.  Gingerly walking down to your row, you are hit by waves of vertigo not seen since the Saul Bass title design of the 1958 movie.  Some of the stair risers had room for your foot.  Others did not.  Each riser had a different elevation so it was impossible to gauge your next perilous step.  I was immediately convinced that, in its disco days, the big ailment at Studio 54 was not cocaine abuse, but broken pelvises.

Once I settled into my seat, I wasn't going to leave it for the next six days.  Luckily, some really great theater kept me riveted into my chair.  While only a little less creaky than the venue around it, "Harvey" as a play still works the same Pulitzer Prize magic that it wielded back at the end of World War II.  I am guessing that, back in its original run, it was greeted warmly by audiences looking for a much-needed homefront diversion.  In 2012, it's as captivating as ever.

You probably know the rather simple tale of "Harvey."  Elwood P. Dowd is frequently accompanied by a big white rabbit seen only to him.  Or is it?  With some crafty theatrics, you begin to wonder if the large pooka does really exist.  Nevertheless, his sister wants to lock Elwood up in the ha ha hotel and, of course, mayhem, missteps, and misunderstandings will ensue.  While the second act seems a little long, you really don't mind.  You really want the play to last forever, thereby preventing you from climbing up and down from your perch on Mount St. Mezzanine.

Yes, Jim Parsons does channel a bit of Sheldon Cooper in his interpretation of Dowd, but it oddly works.  At least, he didn't do an imitation of Jimmy Stewart.  As his sister Veta, Jessica Hecht employs some bizarre voice and speech affectations, but they also oddly work.  The rest of the cast is spot on.  Longtime ditz Carol Kane does her usual one-note daffiness in a small role, while Charles Kimbrough of "Murphy Brown" fame shines as the sanitarium's head shrink.  In lots of respects with this cast, the sum equals more than its array of uneven parts.

Of course, there's a standing ovation at the end of "Harvey."  But what Broadway show these days doesn't get one as hayseed audiences want to justify their trip expenditures which may have included an all-you-can-eat pre-theater buffet at the Olive Garden?  Several younger kids in the front row were bowing in praise of Parsons when he stepped forward for his curtain call.  I, in turn, saluted those youngsters because they were the lucky ones who didn't have to make an arduous climb to their seats like I did.  I would have stood and applauded as well.  But, a quick rise in that mezzanine may have given me a dizzy spell.

So, go see "Harvey" before it closes in August.  And try to get tickets in the orchestra if you can.

Dinner last night:  Leftover sausage and peppers.