By Ron Fassler . . .
Stand back, world! Rachel Bloom has arrived in Greenwich Village with a show sprung from the deep well of her startlingly creative imagination . . . and Christopher Street will never be the same. Death, Let Me Do My Show features the multi-hyphenate actress, writer, composer and comedienne in a very personal, very funny sort of one-person show (be careful of spoilers ahead). She had the Lucille Lortel Theatre in such hysterics that it nearly drowned out the noise of the subway when it rumbled underneath. Its quickly-paced ninety minutes flew by and once out in the street, audience members like me were still laughing.
If you’re unfamiliar with Bloom, then you’ve probably never seen a single episode of The CW network’s “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” a one-hour series that ran four seasons (2015-2019) and which she co-wrote and starred in. Attempting what so many TV shows have tried and rarely accomplished over the years—a weekly TV musical—Bloom and her talented writers and cast, scored on many levels. Funny, touching, outrageous and bold, the original musical numbers were always surprising and inventive. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Broadway was raided for a majority of the talent the show employed: Santino Fontana, Donna Lynn Champlin, Vincent Rodriguez III and Skyler Astin, along with Tovah Feldshuh dropping in from time to time as the main character’s mother, made for a fantastic ensemble. Bloom’s specialty is a foul-mouthed, neurotic person whose boundaries are highly questionable, qualities she puts forth mercilessly in Death, Let Me Do My Show.
Performed on a set by multiple Tony Award winner Beowulf Boritt—who never fails to come up with something beautiful as well as functional—Bloom takes centerstage dressed in silver lamé and six-inch platform shoes, quickly bringing the audience into her confidence. She informs us she was all set to do this show in 2019 before a little global pandemic kept it from happening. And, in claiming no desire to cry over spilled milk, she proceeds as planned to perform that show “because that’s where my material is from.” She announces her first song will be about the trees in her neighborhood that smell like ejaculate, trilling, “Darling, Meet Me Under the Cum Tree,” complete with a white parasol.
Shortly after comes a disturbance, an interruption, that gives the show its title. This is where the spoilers come, so if this review has already given you a sense of who Rachel Bloom is and what sort of entertainment she provides, then purchase your tickets now and I believe you will have a wonderful time of it. But if spoilers don’t bother you or you’re just curious about what happens at this point in the show that’s so mysterious and secretive, be my guest and continue on.
The “disturbance” is a heckler in the audience. Unafraid to engage with him, Bloom has the house lights turned up; and their confrontation gets heated. I totally fell for it, until it was clear this was pre-planned, and this person was Death himself. Thirtysomething, handsome, and dressed in a hoodie and backward baseball cap, it wasn’t until leaving the theater and seeing a blowup of the actor’s headshot and resume that I realized it was Dave Hull, who portrayed White Josh on “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.” Here, Hull gives a sensational performance, testimony to Bloom’s self-confidence and trust in allowing the show (for more than a moment) to be stolen out from underneath her. Death gets an elaborate solo song (he wants to “be seen”) that’s just about the funniest all evening, running neck and neck with Bloom’s song about the Rainbow Bridge, the passing over spot for pets of all kinds (the slide-show alone had me, as the cliché goes, in stitches).
As it turns out 2020, Covid and the birth of her baby girl (days after the March 13 shutdown) was a harrowing time for Bloom. Death did come and visit her, tangentially—thankfully bypassing her daughter, who was born with some fluid in her lungs. This is not an uncommon thing (my own daughter had the same issue), but scary as hell under the Covid circumstances. Due to a severe shortage of beds, Boom was forced out of the hospital and had to leave her child behind with visiting hours restricted to one hour a day and with only one parent allowed in. Patients sick with the stealthy Covid virus were right on the same floor.
With death its underlying theme, a light-hearted evening becomes something much more. Seth Barrish—who has a directorial resume full of one-person shows—and his sensitive direction meshes perfectly with Bloom’s twisted comic sensibility. Death, Let Me Do My Show is an absolutely first-rate entertainment. Shoutouts must go to those listed in the program who contributed to its songs: Eli Bolin, Alden Derck, Jack Dolgen and Shaina Taub; as well as the musicians, Jerome Kurtenbach (musical director, orchestration and keyboard), Ann Klein (guitar), John Feliciano (electric bass) and Ethan Eubanks (drums).
Having entered the theater a Rachel Bloom fan, I departed with even more admiration of her gifts, her grit, and her goodness. She’s the whole package, and I suspect Death, Let Me Do My Show’s stated “strictly limited engagement” through September 30, will actually extend. But in any case, hurry . . . because Death waits for no one.
Death, Let Me Do My Show. Through September 30 at the Lucille Lortel Theatre (121 Christopher Street, between Bleecker an
d Hudson Streets, West Village). www.rachelbloomshow.com
Photos: Emilio Madrid
