Jonathan Groff in a leather coat as he stands center stage, surrounded by cast members pointing microphones at him.” width=”970″ height=”647″ data-caption=’Jonathan Groff as Bobby Darin in <em>Just In Time</em>. <span class=”lazyload media-credit”>Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman</span>’>
Closing out the Broadway season, get ready for spectacular! That’s the word, in my opinion, that best describes Just in Time, the endlessly show-stopping new musical about the late singer-dancer-songwriter-actor Bobby Darin, who lived fast and died at a ridiculously young 37 in 1973—and especially the sensational centerpiece performance by Jonathan Groff in the leading role. Groff won last year’s Tony award for the revival of the Stephen Sondheim musical Merrily We Roll Along, so he’s already a star, but not one to rest on old laurels. Easily the handsomest, most versatile and engaging multi-talent to light up a stage since Hugh Jackman, there doesn’t appear to be anything he can’t do, and in Just in Time he pretty much does it all—frontwards, backwards and upside down. Joyous and exciting, he combines the awesome athletic prowess of Gene Kelly with the libidinous body language of Bob Fosse. Staged like a rocket launching by Alex Timbers, the show gives him more to do than the real Bobby Darin ever did, and he rarely ever pauses long enough to inhale. Sparring, jumping, leaping, flirting with no particular gender preference, and breaking the sound barrier, he hits the stage running, singing Steve Allen’s famous swing tune “This Could Be the Start of Something Big,” and you better believe it.
To provide him the space he needs to fill New York’s Circle in the Square, the theatre has been restructured, revised and re-designed, with a full night-club stage on one end big enough to hold a full jazz band, and a smaller, cabaret-size stage on the other end for solos and intimate talks with the audience. The center of what used to be the orchestra is now a dance floor with cabaret tables that seat 22 audience members, advised to wear raincoats because they’ll be wet by the end of the show from the wholesale spitting and sweating Groff is so fond of. When he sings “Splish Splash,” reach for the Kleenex. If you’re lucky (or rich) enough to secure a seat at one of the tables, you will also find yourself part of the show. Slinging his gym-ready torso through the room and across the table tops with undulating thighs, drawing gasps and sighs, his screaming ovations begin from the downbeat. Two hours later, you leave the joint shaking. You don’t know what hit you, but you know you’ve been to the theatre.
Better yet, you’ve been bedazzled by Jonathan Groff. There are singers, dancers and scantily-clad showgirls onstage with him, but this is pretty much a one-man show, and if he ever misses a performance, they’ll undoubtedly have to cancel. Over the moon imitating Elvis Presley and Fats Domino or sensually crooning a beautiful standard such as “That’s All,” you never know what he’ll do next. One minute, a man in a Brooks Brothers suit might find himself swept up in his arms and waltzed across the dance floor. The next minute, a pretty girl might find herself kissed on the forehead (or somewhere else). He fills the stage with so much non-stop movement and music, you don’t know what to look at or listen to next. It just hits you at the same time, like July fireworks at Jones Beach.
If I have any reservations (every critic always does), they center on the truncated biographical details compiled by Warren Leight and Isaac Oliver in a jukebox musical that serve as little more than the outline for a story that never really takes shape. Sorting between the songs, one-liners appear that don’t begin to tell the real story of Bobby Darin, although a few reveals leak through. Born Walden Robert Cassotto in East Harlem, he was such a sickly child that after three bouts of rheumatic fever, doctors predicted he would die before the age of 16. Coached by his mom, a former vaudeville singer, he chose the name Darin from the last six letters of a Chinese restaurant called the Mandarin, and preferred good music by renowned songwriters like Johnny Mercer and Hoagy Carmichael to rock and roll, but found his earliest success imitating rock stars like Elvis Presley and Fats Domino, writing jukebox junk like “Splish Splash” (his first million-selling single), and ceepy love songs for his whining girlfriend, Connie Francis. He made no secret of the fact that he preferred romantic French classics by Charles Trenet (“La Mer” and “Beyond the Sea”) and Germany’s legendary “Mack the Knife” by Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht from Threepenny Opera, all of which he turned into colossal hits against the advice of his managers and agents.
At the height of his fame, after he became a movie star in Hollywood, a headliner in Vegas, and broke records at New York’s Copacabana, he was always his own boss, even spending his own money to record an album of jazz standards with Johnny Mercer. It was a short, tragic life with one shock after another, hammering him with guilt and fear: His mother turned out to be his sister, his valet on the road and backstage manager turned out to be his stepfather. Fueled by the need for love, his fairy tale marriage to Technicolor all-American film star Sandra Dee (played by a vapid Erika Henningsen), who was raped by her own stepfather from the age of 8 and her inexplicable descent into alcoholism ended in divorce after six years without much insight (he dumped her). What there’s not enough of is a convincing psychological analysis of how a second-rate jingle writer turned into a legendary icon in such a short time. What there’s too much of is Darin’s early love affair with rising (and, in my opinion, grossly overrated) teenage prom queen Connie Francis (played by grating, ratchety-voiced Gracie Lawrence). His foray into politics, a poorly advised turn as a folk singer, his final days as a bankrupt recluse living in a trailer—it’s all here, if only in the form of familiar postscripts. His second, final marriage is deleted altogether.
If anything here makes you mistakenly believe I have second thoughts about Just in Time, apologies are in order, especially in the presence of Jonathan Groff. He’s got a lot to work with and gives it all he’s got. He plays piano. He plays the drums. He sings like a one-man orchestra and dances sharp, intricate choreography with a sense of humor that captivates and enthralls. Bring your own razzle to Just in Time. Groff provides the dazzle. One piece of advice: His talent is overwhelming. The resulting screams of approval are contagious. Bring a lozenge.
Just In Time | 2hrs 30 mins; one intermission | Circle in the Square Theatre | 1633 Broadway/235 West 50th Street | (212) 307-0388
