PAL JOEY
It’s a case study in sexual and class exploitation–except that the dancer is a man and the society figure a woman. In this tale of sexual perversity in Chicago, every typical role is reversed. Joey Evans, the dancer with dreams of glory and an ego ill suited to his modest talents, is a “dumb broad” who happens to be male. Vera Simpson, the bread tycoon’s wife who discovers Joey in a crummy south side joint and sets him up in his own swanky nightclub, is not just a bored matron but a dominant, sexually aggressive wielder of considerable, and traditionally masculine, power. (Vera makes two telephone calls during the show. One is to the police and one is to the bank–she controls them both.)
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What is the point of all this? Is Pal Joey just an exercise in misogyny and trendy cynicism? Far from it: the theme of the show is the need for honesty, in one’s work life and one’s love life. Compulsively boastful and extremely insecure behind his macho bravado, Joey is thoroughly dishonest in his dealings with women (and with himself), and that is his undoing. A more honest man would accept his interlude with Vera for what it is; Joey is unable to do that, and so he forces Vera to dump him hard rather than gently, as she is initially inclined.
The real star of the show–just as “supporting actor” Joel Grey turned into the real star of the Broadway Cabaret 20-odd years ago–is Shannon Cochran as Gladys, the front woman in the chorus line. Cochran is simply spectacular, inhabiting every production number with nonchalant perfection. The chorus as a whole is a dynamic singing-dancing ensemble, embodying the show’s concerns with the search for excellence and realness in art and in life.
