THE MORNING LINE DATE: Tuesday, September 6, 2016 FROM: Melissa Cohen, Michelle Farabaugh Lana Picciano PAGES: 10, including this page

September 6, 2016

Sorry About That: Wells Fargo to End Ads Suggesting Science Over Arts

By Michael Paulson

Wells Fargo, the financial services giant immortalized in lyrics to “The Music Man,” has apologized for advertisements that seemed to suggest that teenagers should set aside their artistic dreams and choose careers in science.

The print ads, promoting a “teen financial education day” program, featured an image of a smiling young woman with the headline: “A ballerina yesterday. An engineer today.” And a young man was shown with the headline: “An actor yesterday. A botanist today.” Each picture featured the tagline, “Let’s get them ready for tomorrow.”

A number of prominent artists took to social media over the holiday weekend to voice their objections to the implicit career guidance, including the songwriter Robert Lopez (“Frozen”), the singer Josh Groban, and the actors Laura Benanti (“She Loves Me”), Alex Brightman (“School of Rock”), Michael Cerveris (“Fun Home”), Donna Lynn Champlin (“Crazy Ex-Girlfriend”), Cynthia Erivo (“The Color Purple”), Heather Headley (“Aida”), Zachary Levi (“She Loves Me”), Andy Mientus (“Smash”), Anthony Rapp (“Rent”), Alexandra Silber (“Fiddler on the Roof”), Wesley Taylor (“Smash”) and Jenna Ushkowitz (“Glee”).

Wells Fargo, also on Twitter, then issued an apology, saying the company “is deeply committed to the arts” and that the ads “were intended to celebrate all the aspirations of young people and fell short of that goal.” The company said it would change the advertising campaign.

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September 5, 2016

Review: ‘Twelfth Night,’ Anything Goes in Love and Shakespeare

By Charles Isherwood Everybody’s pretty much crazy in love in Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night,” so it seems natural to include a shout-out to the Beyoncé song of that name in the contemporary musical adaptation of the play that finishes a brief Labor Day weekend run on Monday night at the Delacorte Theater in Central Park.

As in the similar previous productions from the Public Theater’s Public Works program, which bring together professional and amateur actors as well as civic and cultural groups, almost anything and everything goes in this free-spirited, thoroughly delightful gloss on Shakespeare’s beloved comedy — the full title of which, after all, is “Twelfth Night, or What You Will.” No sign of Big Bird this time, as there was in the production of “The Winter’s Tale,” but a giant stuffed Pikachu, of Pokémon fame, makes an appearance. (Full disclosure: I had to consult my companion to identify him. Her? It?)

The adaptation is by Kwame Kwei-Armah, who directs, and Shaina Taub. Ms. Taub also provides the buoyant jazz-and-R&B-inflected score, and has a plump role in the proceedings as the not-so-foolish fool Feste, who presides over the show from her perch in a bright-green, decal-covered 1970s sedan parked at the side of the stage. Illyria, where the play is set, is represented by a mostly bare stage painted in swirling stripes of bright bold colors by David Zinn, suggesting a Frank Stella painting.

The eye-popping colors, matched in many of the costumes by Andrea Hood, suit the production’s jubilant mood. Yes, the Countess Olivia (a gravely dignified Nanya-Akuki Goodrich) maintains her traditional mourning and resistance to the overtures of love from the Duke Orsino (a gallant, man-bunned Jose Llana). But her misery is set to music by the Jambalaya Brass Band, which trails after her, lending sweet sounds to her wailing woe.

It’s not long before Olivia succumbs to the earnest appeals of Nikki M. James’s Viola, disguised as Orsino’s servant Cesario, whose radiant innocence and ardor would seduce even the saddest woman. Although a fair amount of Shakespeare’s dialogue has been jettisoned in favor of more contemporary language — with which it blends with surprising fluidity — Ms. James, a Tony winner for “The Book of Mormon,” stands out for her elegant verse-speaking as well as the emotional timbres she brings to her performance. As Viola finds herself wooed when she is in male guise by Olivia, Viola falls in love with the Duke Orsino, even as she mourns a twin brother she believes lost, Sebastian (the fine Troy Burton, whose nonresemblance to Ms. James is played for a fun gag).

Ms. Taub’s songs are a continual delight, with their slangy, funny lyrics. “Everyone wants who they don’t got, and everyone’s being someone they’re not,” sing Feste and the Illyriettes, a girl group in shiny dresses whose members weave in and out of the proceedings, as the complications and mixed messages pile up. But Ms. Taub

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also provides a lovely solo for Viola, in which she muses on how differently she is treated when dressed as a man, a pointed comment on contemporary culture that, miraculously, doesn’t feel shoehorned into the proceedings. (“Why has this power in me never been given a chance?” she laments. “Is it as simple as putting on a pair of pants?”)

This may be because the production merrily plays fast and loose with the language, even as it wraps itself firmly around the machinations of the plot.

While Viola finds herself caught up in the troubled romance between Olivia and Orsino, Olivia’s relatives and servants tangle and torment one another as usual. Olivia’s maid Maria (a commanding Lori Brown-Niang) tricks Olivia’s servant Malvolio, played with simpering snottiness by Andrew Kober, into believing his mistress has fallen for him, while Sir Toby Belch, imbued with a wily charm by Jacob Ming-Trent, sends his cowardly compère Sir Andrew (a nicely goofy Daniel Hall) into battle against Viola-as-Cesario.

As in previous Public Works productions, these and other passages make room for cameos from local performance groups that are threaded seamlessly (or sometimes not, but who cares?) into the staging. Members of the New York Deaf Theater sign along with some of the songs, their hands dancing with the lyrics. When Sir Toby sends a fearful Sir Andrew into battle, the combat is preceded by a burst of martial arts from the Ziranmen Kungfu Wushu Training Center and accompanied by thunderous percussion from the Cobu drum corps. And — why not? — the giddy wonder that overcomes Malvolio when he believes Olivia loves him is accompanied by a high-kicking chorus of cancan dancers, courtesy of the Brooklyn-based troupe the Love Show. Plus: Lots of cute kiddie Illyrians join in the festivities.

What makes Shakespeare’s plays ripe for such madcap interpolations is their very capaciousness of spirit. The comedies, especially, offer a vision of the world that encompasses humor high and low, hints of melancholy and even tragedy, songs of sadness and joy, and romance by the bushelful. Nothing and no one is out of place in the world Shakespeare brought forth from his imagination, because that world remains an illuminating mirror of the one we live in.

So, bring on that fluffy Pikachu, and welcome to the theater, Lorenzo Hudson. You are not familiar with his work, I expect. By day, Mr. Hudson is a member of the National Association of Letter Carriers, but for Labor Dayweekend this year, he was moonlighting on the stage of the Delacorte, delivering that fake letter from Maria that sends Malvolio into his foolish swoon. Sure, he was typecast, but aren’t most performers at some point in their careers?

September 6, 2016

Review: In ‘The Jamb,’ 2 Gay Middle-Age Friends Face a Reckoning

By Elisabeth Vincentelli

At 40, Roderick is fit and muscular, and leads a healthy life. He is also angry at just about everything, especially gay men who waste their lives getting wasted — chief among them his best friend, Tuffer, a trust-fund wastrel with a weakness for crystal meth and go-go boys. What makes things worse for Roderick is that before adopting the monastic precepts of straightedge hardcore music — no drugs, no booze, no fun — he used to be just like Tuffer. Now, he’s the one on call when his buddy cries for help at 4 a.m.

We are in 2008, and the heroes of J. Stephen Brantley’s play “The Jamb” are in a novel situation. As same-sex marriage becomes legal one state at a time, Roderick (Mr. Brantley) and Tuffer (Nic Grelli) try to find a middle ground between heedless partying and “the whole heteronormative suburban assimilation thing,” in Roderick’s dismissive words.

This is familiar terrain for Mr. Brantley (who is frank about his past drug abuse and homelessness) and the director David Drake, the author and performer of “The Night Larry Kramer Kissed Me,” a 1992 solo show about gayness in the age of AIDS. This gives “The Jamb” a lived-in feel, and Mr. Brantley’s writing can be sharply funny — “If I spoke that way to my mother, she would hire someone to slap me,” Tuffer says after yet another of Roderick’s stern rebuffs.

It can also be haphazard, especially in the second act, when the men visit Roderick’s hippie mother (Carole Monferdini) in New Mexico, where they hope Tuffer can finally go clean. The action, initially zipping at an antic clip, grinds to a halt. From a dramatic standpoint, at least, watching someone sober up is a lot less entertaining than watching someone get into drug-fueled jams with men half his age.

Yet “The Jamb” has a rough charm precisely because of its flaws and stumbles. And with its beer bar and old-school East Village ambience, the grungy Kraine Theater is a perfect fit for Mr. Drake’s production, which is a little burned around the edges but conceals a soft, chewy center.

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September 3, 2016

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September 6, 2016

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September 4, 2016

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