Pittu, Brute?
Whats That Smell: The Music of Jacob Sterling Through Sept. 28. Atlantic Stage Two, 330 W. 16th St.; 212-279-4200. $35.
Its no revelation that our society worships perfection. Were it otherwise, wed blink nary an eye at Michael Phelps eight gold medalsor really anything from his neck downor marvel, at least until recently, at Tiger Woods putting some ungodly number under par. The theater is no different: Straight-play devotees lie prostrate before Adam Rapp and Sarah Ruhl; musical-theater maniacs idolize Stephen Sondheim.
Jacob Sterling, the blissfully overblown songwriter at the center of Whats That Smell: The Music of Jacob Sterling, would never receive such exaltation in the real world. Thats the point of this satirical valentine to musicals, which stars David Pittu and which Pittu has co-authored with composer Randy Redd and co-staged with Atlantic Theater Company artistic director Neil Pepe.
The setting is a fictional cable-TV show hosted by Leonard Swagg, a prissy emcee regally played by Peter Bartlett, gussied in a too-pristine camelhair jacket, dress shirt and tie. A show queen of the first order, Swaggs program celebrates the musical theaters superlative talents and Sterlingprominently up-and-coming for over 20 years, brags Swaggis his guest. As flimsy curtains part on Takeshi Katas tacky set (note the cute kitty-cat seat cushion), in sweeps Sterling.
Oh, what a wonderful performer Pittu is. Blessed with an elastic face that illuminates a stage, the initial sight of his spiky, blond-tipped hair, largely unbuttoned shirt and red speckled sneakers smacks you like a semiotic tsunami, connoting nothing more or less than total aesthetic quackery. No wonder Sterlings awardsrecalled rapturously by Swagginclude the I Cant Believe Its Not Butter Foundation Genius Grant for Emerging American Composers as well as the TJ Maxx Endowment for Achievement in Lyric Writing.
Swaggs interview, punctuated with Sterling singing his songs, unfolds as a retrospective of the dizzy writers hapless life and hopeless oeuvre. Remember that fun benefit for Chronic Yeast SyndromeEine Kleine Vagina Musikstarring Kiri Te Kanawa and Jill Eikenberry? Whatever happened to that musical version of Private Benjamin? As Pittu thrashes twit-level lyrics and arch melodies, accented by lounge-lizard phrasing and shimmying shoulders, we know the answer.
Whats That Smell occasionally fouls the senses with topical humor. References to Sterlings college days at the South Palo Alto School of Music, called SPASM, and to a commission from the Cedar Rapids American Musical Performance Series, called CRAMPS, are funny, but at a certain point the acronym jokes could have been abbreviated. Various allusions to sleazy sex are amusing, but eventually theyre as unyielding as a priapism. Pittu and Pepe should definitely nix having a siren wail whenever the death of the musical theater arises in conversation.
Fortunately, the show is so joke-laden that any comic misfire is usually followed by a dart at the center of the board. Theres that mythical downtown boite, Pumpernickels. Theres chatter about a jukebox musical based on the Pat Benatar songbook. And theres Sterling, impossible to pry from the piano, singing a song from his musical based on Le Femme Nikita or burbling a bit of his pop chamber fantasia, The Sound of Human Loving, complete with a coda that mimics an orgasm. And theres Let Me Taste the World, with an opening melody lifted note for note from a well-known Sondheim song. That sent titters throughout the house, helping to I.D. the real show queens in attendance.
For a finale, Sterling and three chorus folkBrandon Goodman, Matt Schock and Helene Yorkeperform songs from Sterlings first Broadway musical, Shopping Out Loud. He explains that the inspiration for the show was President Bushs capitalistic call-to-arms after 9/11. Itll be innovative, he promises, because chain stores will sponsor each scene, thus helping to keep the ticket price down to 75 cents. Naturally the songs are so mediocre that theyre actually somewhat plausible. Its reassuring that Pittu isnt just perfect, hes priceless.