The lobby, all in gold-flecked wallpaper and adorned with glass cases housing cheerful souvenirs, is early Vegas. The preshow is worth the price of admission. This all goes to forge such a jovial environment that audiences are willing to grant absolution to many a stage atrocity. If more of our theaters practiced this convivial policy, soggy Greek tragedies and wimpy musicals would take on an extra snap. My Fair Lady from utter damnation.
Dinner theaters are the same aberration as drive-in movies.
He gives one of the most dispiriting performances in the history of musical theater. With his jerky movements, overemphasized vowels, and blank expression, he brings to mind a marionette imitating Rex Harrison's legendary original. It is a minor miracle that Marni Raab's Eliza Doolittle, playing against such a robotic love interest, could conjure up so appealing and witty an interpretation. It may be debated whether what is being presented could accurately be called My Fair Lady , since a musical is defined by its songs. Here, Frederick Loewe's luscious score, full of lilting strings and fizz, is tortured into elevator music by a Torquemada of a synthesizer.