Laura Benanti is a national treasure for those of us in the know. Although she would likely be the first to admit she wouldn’t mind a *few* more folks actually being “in the know.”
Benanti is currently touring her one woman tour de force (yeah, I said it) Nobody Cares: A Comedy Show with Original Songs.
From the show’s website: “Direct from an acclaimed run at Edinburgh Fringe and two sold-out Off-Broadway engagements comes Laura Benanti: Nobody Cares, a one-woman comedy show from the mind of Tony Award® winner Laura Benanti, with songs co-written with Todd Almond. Known for her dazzling Broadway performances and razor-sharp wit, Benanti takes the stage to share her hilarious, heartfelt, and sometimes brutally honest takes on motherhood, people-pleasing, and the joys of aging. Blending side-splitting storytelling with original songs, New York Times Critic’s Pick Nobody Cares is a love letter to recovering people pleasers, mothers, and anybody working on themselves.”
Spot. On.
We caught the Saturday matinee of Benanti’s first tour stop at Chicago’s storied Steppenwolf Theater, and I can honestly say that I never stopped smiling and laughing during the show’s entire brisk and fizzy 65 minute runtime.
About 12 years ago, my parents and I were privileged to see Benanti perform at Indianapolis’ The Cabaret at the Columbia Club. (Read more about that performance here.) She was touring behind the release of her brilliant live album In Constant Search of the Right Kind of Attention, weaving familiar and forgotten show tunes and pop songs into a clever and comic tapestry of her experiences as a performer and human.
In many respects, Nobody Cares is both thoughtful expansion and complete reinvention of that concept, in part a spiritual sequel yet also something new, altogether different and rather breathtaking.
Benanti opens the show with a playfully bawdy, slinky funk number “Give It To Me (Your Attention Please),” a clear and present declaration that we’ve gleefully left Eliza Doolittle territory. And when Benanti declares “most of this show is bad words,” well, fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a humpy night.
Benanti is about six years younger than I, and, like most of us who survived and thrived in the 80s and 90s, we all learned from the icons of our era – namely Madonna – that the weaponization of sex can be a powerful framework for art. The comedic vivisection and upending of sexual mores and conventions is one of the best ways to fight the patriarchy, sexism, misogyny, homophobia, racism, and ageism.
In her incisive, whip smart script for this show, Benanti defines her life as a series of run-ins with human beings (mostly, though not exclusively, men) hell bent on painting her talent into a corner: remaining the apologetic ingenue, honoring the contract around being an object of desire, playing the dutiful wife, feeling the shame from all others’ expectations of ideal motherhood.
While Benanti has one of the most glorious vocal instruments on the modern stage, this isn’t a show centered on the music. The five original songs are sharp and riotous with a deep undercurrent of arch poignancy. They serve as punctuation marks or perhaps chapter breaks, cleverly marking the various phases of Benanti’s life. “Good Men,” for example is a catchy AF earworm about men who are anything but …
But, no, this is a show about storytelling, a whirlwind confessional and indictment of the perils of being a smart, ambitious, observant woman in contemporary America. The show is unapologetically feminist, but never a polemic. In fact, you will find yourself so caught up in the hilarity, that the tragic heartbreak bubbling under it all won’t hit you square in the face until 24 hours later.
Keep your eye (ear) on the song “Mommy Lies.” Benanti’s delivery and lyrics twist the knife even as the number tickles your funny bone, spotlighting the peril of raising daughters in a world that has already caused their mother such pain, shielding her daughters from harsh realities while also hoping they will transcend them.
Shout out to director Annie Tippe who has staged the piece for maximum efficiency and impact, focusing all eyes on the nuclear reactor of Benanti’s percolating mind and fiercely vibrant presence. I think I only counted two props deployed during the entire show, both perfectly placed and timed for visual punch. It is theatrical magic when a performer can keep you transfixed on their narrative without the need for any additional stagecraft – that is credit both to Benanti’s exceptional talent and Tippe’s economical direction.
That said, Benanti is aided and abetted by a cracking trio of musicians: Sean Peter Forte on piano, Chuck Webb on bass, and Tom Hipskind on percussion. The accompaniment is tight and rollicking, and it is clear from the onstage dynamic that this quartet (Benanti, Forte, Webb, Hipskind) have good history, deep love, and mad respect for and with each other.
The musicians almost become a kind of de facto Greek chorus, occasionally offering spoken interjections at just the right moments of comic camaraderie, reminding Benanti (and all of us) that no one is alone. And perhaps that’s the most salient message of all, very much needed in these challenging days.
(NOTE: a live recording of the show is available on Audible, though it won’t take the place of seeing the inimitable Benanti live IMHO. Full tour schedule with ticket links here.)
