I stood behind a lamppost, wearing my grey fedora, illuminated only by a dim streetlamp as I smoked a cigarette and watched the film noir musical, The City Club, with its high-steppin’, long-legged, gorgeous chorus girls. Narrated by a “Play it again, Sam” piano player/singer, Kenny Brawner, tickling the ivories, with a hot band behind him, this stylized musical, book by Glenn M. Stewart, music and lyrics by James Compton, Tony De Deur and Tim Brown, gives us bad guys in fedoras (the worst of them, played by the evilest of evil Peter Bradbury in a black one), junkies, gangsters, and some of the flashiest, most beautiful women in town in sparkling costumes by David C. Woolard.
I think director Mitchell Maxwell is the best caster in town. What singers! Ana Hoffman, Kristen Martin, Autumn Gazzardi, Emily Tyra, Kaitlin Mesh. And some of the most exciting, innovative choreography in New York by Lorin Latarro, including Patrick O’Neill and Mesh in the hottest Apache/adagio dance you’ll ever see – ever.
Robert J. Townsend, who resembles Scott Brady and plays a couple of roles, has the charisma of a George Clooney and the singing voice of a star. Rob Bissinger’s bar-room set is just right, as is the lighting by David F. Segal. And kudos to fight director Rick Sordelet for a great brawl.
The jazzy blues tunes made me want to get up and dance, the singing by the entire cast was entrancing, and despite my reservations about some of the consequences in the story, Maxwell has done a splendid job of creating a lively, atmosphere-filled show.
