In this publicity image courtesy if Joan Marcus, actor Hugh Jackman, is seen with Emily Tyra, left, Lara Seibert, second from right, and Kearran Giovanni in "Hugh Jackman, Back on Broadway," in New York. The show opened Thursday at the Broadhurst Theatre. AP
NEW YORK—Early in a recent performance of Hugh Jackman’s one-man show, an elderly woman in the center of the front row caught his eye.
That wasn’t hard to do since she was wearing a leopard-print dress, oversized tinted glasses and a jacket made of high-sparkle sequins.
“Wow, you are sparkly,” he told her.
So, it turned out, is Jackman, a fact that becomes clearly evident by the end of his two-hour solo show “Hugh Jackman, Back on Broadway,” which opened Thursday at the Broadhurst Theatre.
Backed by an 18-piece orchestra and six leggy dancers in short, glittery dresses, Jackman belts out about two dozen musical theater songs, pausing only to offer up video montages of his films and stories of his life.
He does this while wearing a winning smile, a nice suit and an open collared-shirt, a look his orchestra mimics. He’s a consummate professional, able to win the audience over with a twinkle and a nod. (“Mezzanine!” he’ll scream and those people, so often forgotten up there, eat it up.)
The show is sometimes cheesy and rather too night-clubby and dangerously veers toward self-indulgent, but it’s hard to be nasty about Jackman, a relentlessly cheerful Australian who seems well aware that he lacks any noticeable edge. The razor-sharp claws he wears as “The X-Men” character Wolverine are long gone. Without gimmicks, he’s just handsome and confident and very sparkly — and he’s fine with that.
The show features his interpretations of songs ranging from the sexy R&B tune “Fever” to “Rock Island” from “The Music Man” to a medley of classic movie songs such as “Singin’ in the Rain” and “Luck Be a Lady.” He tap dances, does high kicks, hits a few notes on the piano, glides about the stage and does the two-step with the pretty young women in short dresses. Warren Carlyle, the director and choreographer, has wisely gotten out of Jackman’s way after realizing that this guy can do it all.
Some of the highlights include a vocal workout doing the eight-minute “Soliloquy” from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical “Carousel,” and a collection of songs from his Tony Award-winning turn in “The Boy From Oz” while wearing Peter Allen-inspired matching gold lame pants and jacket, and gold shoes.
“You got nothing on me, sweetie,” he told the woman in the sequin jacket, while himself looking like an escaped diva from “Priscilla Queen of the Desert.”
The woman then surrendered her loud jacket to Jackman, who put it on, thereby doubling his level of sheer fabulousness. A few beats later, he pulls a beefy member of his stage crew on stage and drapes the woman’s jacket on him to peals of laughter.
Jackman makes fun of himself — he jokes about his terrible film “Van Helsing” — as well as the NBA lockout, Donald Trump, Michelle Bachman and Kim Kardashian’s short marriage, but shows his best skills as an improvisational comic, riffing off the audience or fellow performers. He pulls people out of the seats to join him on stage and then leaves them up there to dance while he sits in their seat.
He’s a gentleman who also knows not everyone wants the spotlight. While hunting for potential victims, he spies a man cowering in his seat. “You’re desperate for me to move on, aren’t you?” he says.
Thing take a more serious note toward the end when he speaks of his native land and two didgeridoo players, Paul Boon and Nathan Mundraby, as well as vocalists Olive Knight and Clifton Bieundurry walk up on stage to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in Walmajarri, their traditional language. It’s a little jolting after “Steppin’ Out With My Baby,” but Jackman makes sure it doesn’t become exploitative.
There’s something here for everyone, turning Jackman into a bit of cypher. Women love him, so do men. He’s a family man and a naughty husband. He’s a movie star and a Broadway baby. He’s Gene Kelly and Peter Allen and Wolverine. He’s a fellow New Yorker and a kindred spirit of the Aboriginal people. His motto is, “Have a go, mate.”
His voice is like the show — strong and sweet, but not terribly enlightening. His song interpretations are decidedly run-of-the-mill, straight down the middle, but nice. He works hard, stripping off his suit coat and then rolling up his sleeves, sweat stains visible. By the end, he’s thanking his orchestra, high-fiving members of the audience and getting a standing ovation.
And he still sparkles.