Singing Patinkin's Praises Toronto Sun December 3, 1995 By W. Pennfield If Mandy Patinkin ever happens to bring his harp (or his lampshade) to your party, make him the centre of attention. He will undoubtedly claim it. And there is no less doubt he will earn it. As he proved last night, virtually alone on the bare-to-the-walls stage of the O'Keefe Centre, less can be memorably more. After the first song - a rabble-rousing romp from Carmen with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein - he threw down his first gauntlet: He told stragglers in painstaking detail absolutely everything that had happened since the more timely had been chatting comfortably in their seats, waiting for the lights to go down ... rising for the singing of O Canada - he insisted the tape be cued up again ... thrilling to the first song, if only the latecomers had been there to see it. Funny. Not comfy. He was in black, T-shirt and jeans, sneakers, beard. He had a chair. After a love song he threw down a second gauntlet: "If you're worried, Is he just going to sit there?? - Worry!" He sat some more. He had a plastic bottle of water. He had a megaphone, a pad, and a fake radio microphone, props with one use each. He also had a pianist, so he wasn't quite alone. Paul Ford is the ideal accompanist for a megaloman. Or for a great, charismatic soloist. Ford sat with his back to us and moved not one muscle more than was necessary for impeccable accompaniment that cast no shadow. No wonder he has been at the heart of Stephen Sondheim's last four Broadway orchestras and on three albums of solo Patinkin. But the job of whipping an audience into a frenzy - and then out, into pin-drop raptness - that takes arrogance. And when one claims as big as Patinkin does, and demands as much of an audience as he did, one might as well be Patinkin. Someone has to. Patinkin combines the vulnerable vocals of an Aaron Neville with the heart of a Harry Chapin and the command of a Streisand. This combination would crush most songs. He applies it to scenes of layered character and angular melody and tongue-twisting lyrics, making them trip lightly, making the passions seem foremost. But even the breadth of Sondheim and Hammerstein combined would be too limiting for the concert of a man who thrives on surprise. Patinkin also brought vaudeville to modern life with a medley of Berle and Berlin (Milton and Irving.) He gave throat shredding intensity to My Boy Bill and essence of innocence to Me And My Shadow. When he goofed on The Jitterbug Waltz, he turned it into a production number, abdandoning it, flexing his determination, finally taking three more runs at it before triumphing. He cajoled the audience: "This is a big band number, a big band number in a cheap show. I need your help." Then he corralled some front-row cheerleaders, mocking their reluctance but turning down volunteers from the darkness - "You didn't pay this kind of money." And then when he was rehearsing them in their foolishness, he said, "I'm a doctor, trust me." It was the show's only overt reference to his character on Chicago Hope, though he did a few songs Dr. Geiger has sung. And if the movie version of Evita has half as much emotion as his mini-montage last night, it will be a thrill. The role of Che in the original Broadway production won him a Tony, and Don't Cry For Me Argentina was the last thing his character sang when he left Chicago Hope last month. Last night he did part of it in Yiddish. Why not. This was the concert as live theatre. Not for the stroking of fuzzy sentiment but for the living in dramatic moment. You had to be there. Really, fully there.

Navigation Menu