Sondheim on Sondheim star Vanessa Williams with Matthew Scott
photo by Richard Termine

Well, I might as well get to it right up front: “All About Steve” is so rapturously good in almost all of its elements that it ought to stick around until his 90^th birthday, minimum. I’m not just whistling Dixie, joining in the festivities for his 80^th, I’ve joined other of his milestone festivities and none have been this good. That Sondheim of Sondheim directors, James Alpine, has really done him proud. And I’ve seen twelve different Sondheim shows, nine of them twice each. I’ve read the essays to and from Sondheim, seen the clips, the family photos, the work critiques, the works in progress fulminations but this is the first time I’ve ever seen the charming Sondheim construct: the Legend. It’s as artful as anything he has done. Bravo, Lapine. And bravo again and again to Beowulf Boritt, the Sondheim of set designers whose dazzlingly kinetic work of art has as much if not more to do with the success of the whole endeavor in fulfilling Sondhiem on Sondheim than any other single facet of this jewel of a show. The continuous Boritt visual concert is a joy, presenting Sondheim, infant and octogenarian, at work, at play, reveling in his telling stories including the scathingly funny Ethel Merman anecdote while he’s twenty monitors large. Coming from that huge Sondheim, the story becomes monumental and veracious. Which leads me to other musings about Lapine’s construct because I’d heard that story before and thought it was too good to be true. Well then? If that’s apocryphal (nice word for “bullshit”) what else is in this marvelous recounting of Sondheim in story and song that might also be? And, on second thoughts, I don’t care, Lapine has created a wonderful evening. Its show biz, folks, fagedaboutit.

The ingredients? (1) A chronology built around his musical chronology (see your program in the theater) which includes the first song, ”I’ll Meet You at the Donut” introduced by the giant Sondheim of multi monitors, then disparaged, then dismissed. And on to the next song, and the next, not that there can ever be enough. Lots of them that never made it into shows, others transmogrified to fit new surroundings. Sondheim tells us all about all. Apocryphally? Well, maybe, well, yeah, well why not, it’s a show, isn’t it? Memorial, testimonial, 80^th birthday, regardless, the show’s the thing. And Sondheim comes up roses. Even in his evasions, even in his tantalizing moments of privacy in this great, open, apparently exposed telling of his life story on multiple screens, even the horror: this beautiful baby, this wonderful child was detestably unwanted. His own mother told him so.

The obliquities, the demurrals? Not a peep about the long years with shrinks, but then Lapine was wedded to the musical chronology and that would have zagged into another dynamic we were not meant to visit. Although it might have explained his passion for Passion, his prize winning egg. Indeed, part of the pleasures of following the superb video projection sequences designed by Peter Flaherty for Sondheim’s selective life story are the conjectures: would an ugly, hated boy be attracted to the story of an ugly, hated woman who wins the man of her dreams despite everything? Not that he was ugly but he thought he was. Nor was she…

Second ingredient: Cast, which many might well consider first. But it’s not. There are clues. Sondheim is very loyal to his performers, to the point of using them even when they no longer appear to know what they’re doing so long as it’s Sondheim. Perhaps he thinks his songs stand up regardless, perhaps he’s right. Barbara Cook is utterly wonderful performing “In Buddy’s Eyes” (Follies) yet she’s notorious for misreading “Losing my Mind” from the same show. Video Sondheim makes cheeky fun of odd versions of “Send in the Clowns”, then allows Diva Cook to do her own odd version which she apparently believes is definitive that not even Lapine could budge. Vanessa Williams astonishes with her lavish gifts in Sondheim’s behalf and Tom Wopat reaches unexpected thrilling heights. Norm Lewis has looks, manner charm and all the voice you could want, all bestowed on the Sondheim song and saga. Leslie Kritzer is a Sondheim performing treasure. Erin Mackey spins her Sondheim fine. Euan Morton and Matthew Scott, both strong performers. May they grow old in Sondheim as gracefully as they deliver today. And bless my soul, the very beautiful, simple finale, “Anyone Can Whistle” (Anyone Can Whistle,1964) makes you warm and grateful and proud. Thank you, Steve, for all the songs, all the disturbance, all the pleasure, all the inner turbulence, all the years. And all the years to come. Thank you, Steve.

Studio 54, 254 West 54^th Street. Tickets: $36.50-$126.50. 212-719-1300. Tue-Sat 8 pm. Mats, Wed,Sat, Sun 2 pm. Limited run.