REVIEW: Chez Joey (Arena Stage)

We have as about as close we’re going to get to a Marty Supreme musical, and it’s playing down in southwest.

Bienvenue à Chez Joey, the latest iteration of 1940’s Pal Joey. The Golden Age musical by Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart has recently undergone an effort to modernize itself a-la Damn Yankees, having moved itself here from a revised concert staging at New York City Center last year. And hey: since Arena pulled off Yankees that well, it makes sense to believe in them for yet another reinvention, this time from the minds of Richard Lagravanese, Savion Glover, and Tony Goldwyn.

Book/Music

The book of Joey has seemingly needed some work since forever. In John O’Hara’s original book (based on his own short stories), Evans is a suave, womanizing nightclub singer in Chicago with big dreams of opening a club of his own, flanked by a wealthy baroness on one side and a more down-to-earth city gal on the other.

It’s about here that the similarities end in Lagravanese’s update.

For starters, racial undertones (overtones, really) dominate the plot in smartly-intentioned, but shallow ways. It’s now canon that Joey is Black — rather blackity-Black at that, and quite proud of it. He works at a club called Lucille’s, named for the owner who served as his mother figure growing up, a woman of strong business sensibility and a keen eye for peoples’ true motivations. One of the better devices established early in Act I is its placement at the thick of Jim Crow. “You ain’t no Cotton Club showgirl no more”, he says to one of the dancers early on, referencing the joint at the time to where wealthier whites could socially-acceptably see the best in Black entertainment from a distance. There’s this ever-present goal to foster something that’s theirs, though initially, Joey approaches it as his. His slimy heart begins to grow a little upon meeting one Linda English, a Black woman with a silvery voice that makes the two of them stars in mutual orbits. But his ambitions take a turn when he meets wealthy socialite Vera Simpson, who is white, and a conflict brews between his community pride and material goals. Joey fails to maximize the effort in establishing a high-stakes racial reckoning. Consider Arena’s previous outing of Yankees earlier this season, which in a similar way refocuses a classic musical to that of a colored point of view; it distills the protagonist’s experiences as a Black man into something internal that constantly gnaws at him. The case of Joey makes it seem merely like a means to an end, a convenient pulling of the race card to artificially drive tension. Confusingly, the book does start to naturally build this in other ways — most notably from a class-oriented perspective, which I found more worthy of exploration. But things fizzle out before we get to see it, leaving the audience a but hollow. Perhaps it’s the continually under-baked antihero persona of Joey, whose rewards from his flirtatious dialogue feel all-too-convenient for the character that does so, but nor does he reap proper consequences for his rug-pulling and sleaze, so maybe that too. Or even grander, perhaps it’s the inclusion of several songs from around the Rogers and Hart songbook, creating an incongruent, jukebox-like tone in between the actual Joey hits like “I Could Write A Book” and “What Is A Man?”. The book issues can be ignored (as much as a mosquito bite can be) if you are in that seat for a visual spectacle or some musical earworms. But if you’re not particularly fond of this songwriting duo, then the music will remain forgettable despite the thematically blissful orchestrations by Glover. 3/10

Acting

DMV native (!) Myles Frost is the youngest solo Tony winner ever, winning for originating the title role of Michael Jackson in the long-running MJ jukebox back in 2022.

He will never shake this persona off, for better or for worse. But it doesn’t seem like he necessarily wants to…for better or for worse.

This is apparent from the second he leaps onto the stage as Joey, kicking off the show’s blazing energy with hip snaps and a raspy falsetto that feels almost as if MJ was the one performing here in 1940’s Chicago. Joey is fully convinced that he is on top of the world — or as much as he can be in Lucille’s club. His approach to Joey becomes naturally more introspective as the show progresses, and it’s these moments of clarity that are the closest Frost comes to a natural figure in the eyes of the audience. It never quite meets the audience on equal footing, emotionally or physically; he radiates an unattainable level of swagger for the average person to realistically achieve, with an equal level of masculine hubris that seems physically toxic in quantities of this magnitude. Even when the sine wave of coolness troughs enough to start thawing out a Regular Guy, a new, bafflingly impressive musical number hits, showing everyone just how incredible of a talent he is. By approaching Joey with the idea that this is The Myles Frost Show Featuring Select Hits From Rogers & Hart™️, you too can enjoy a sensational solo performance that commands attention at every corner.

But what about everybody else? Well, we can start with the incomparable presence that is Awa Sal Secka. Anybody who’s anybody knows that if she’s on a cast list, it’s must-see viewing, right? Linda English is crafted with a gaudy sparkle in Secka’s performance, featuring a slew of crystalline takes on musical standards that’s worth the price of admission. Her acting chops, proven in Jaja’s African Hair Braiding and others, continue to shine in Joey, joining the cast of women whose roles feel the most interesting. None is more so the case than the newly-created character of Lucille, whose stakes in this are unfairly held hostage by Joey. But Angela Hall handles it all too well. Her handful of numbers were delightful each time, and I only wish she was taken more seriously as a character. And while I still didn’t think much of the character depth of Vera, the classically glassy vocals from Samantha Massell are an undeniably great addition to the show’s repertoire. 8/10

Production

It’s February, so now we get to witness impeccable feats of athleticism put together by some of the most talented Americans in the field. Unrelatedly, the Olympics are also happening.

“Olympic” is the first word I wrote down when Savion Glover’s frenetic choreography first rears its beautiful head in Act I. It’s a barrage of rickety, brain-scratching tap dance fervor much of the time, but there’s plenty of room for more stomping, more jiving, and more boxiness. Act II in particular contains some astonishing numbers that hit you like a trance and leave the audience breathless.

Glover in his infinite eccentricity is also what he calls an “orchestrologist”. I can get behind this term: the housy arrangements of the band are a spiritual character in itself , and are something he and Goldwyn utilize cleverly. It’s almost every scene that something is making a noise, an undercurrent of rhythm that controls the action. Think: a light snare rattle, a monotonic tap from a shoe, or a hiss from a cymbal. It makes the scene constantly feel alive, and with cinematic lighting from Adam Honore and a gorgeous geometric set (that is only a smidge too static) from Derek McLane, the full physical experience is enchanting. 9/10

Viz

The jazz is hot and the vibes are brassy when you enter Arena’s proscenium Kreeger Theater. It feels like you’re waiting for the opening shift at your local dive, which you sort of are; before the lights go down, before the groove starts, the band hops on stage casually, taking a shot or two. The key art Arena has been using is warm and sultry, with sparkling crimsons and active musical scenes that evoke a nondescript Art Deco club environment. Thus, the marketing feels like a more firey Play On in this regard, but there’s enough tonal overlap between these shows to excuse it. 8/10

Verdict

Chez Joey is an attractive 2-and-a-half-hour experience at the theater, with enough jazz ‘n pizzazz to carry you through a sour book. 28/40