Conceived by Todd Olson and the shows director and choreographer, David Grapes, this revue, performed by a cast of two men and two women, pays homage to Americas all-time coolest crooner by trotting out a few dozen of the more than 1,300 songs Ol' Blue Eyes recorded in his unbelievably prolific career.
Conceding that Sinatra's mighty trumpet of a voice and gift for naturally taking ownership of lyrics are inimitable, the singers shy away from impersonation. Of the four performers, John Fredo (Man No. 1) is the most similar, but even he can only vaguely approximate the seemingly effortless magic of the Chairman of the Boards belting a tune with the alacrity of a saloon dweller throwing back a scotch.
So instead of imitation, we get two hours of genial flattery. Sinatra die-hards, easily singled out by their undulating shoulders, lapped it up like yummy tapioca pudding. For the rest of us, there was an extensive (maybe too extensive) offering of old standards to enjoy.
True, the production, marked by crisscrossing couples and church-social amiability, occasionally invoked the strolling banality of The Lawrence Welk Show. But who could complain about a treasure-trove of hits that includes such Sinatra signatures as “Ive Got the World on a String," “One for My Baby (And One More for the Road)" and “Fly Me to the Moon"?
Fittingly, the set, designed by Bruce Goodrich, situates us in a nightclub, with a bar on the left, a jazzy trio on a raised platform in the middle and an intimate booth on the right for a little cozy serenading. Biographical details (concerning Sinatras origins, storied romances and all-important likes and dislikes) are sprinkled throughout, but the overarching narrative is about saluting an icon.
“My Way" seems pitched, reasonably enough, to a graying demographic. After the group performs “Strangers in the Night," Casey Erin Clark (Woman No. 1) observes, I bet everyone in this audience has a memory associated with that song. Hard to imagine those words being spoken at a Black Eyed Peas concert, but if theres anything to the notion that half the U.S. population over 40 was conceived while their parents were listening to the music of Frank Sinatra, the younger generation may owe Sinatra more than it realizes.
