Copyright The Daily Beast
One of the unwritten rules of American politics is that the vice president should never outshine the president. Eli Bauman’s 44: The Musical, tonally-strangely both an uproarious spoof and also very earnest tribute to Barack Obama, shatters that tradition, with the character of Joe Biden (Chad Doreck) spectacularly dominating the stage as the star of an uneven show, which is playing at the Daryl Roth Theatre through Dec. 7. Far from being a musical for Obama fans, 44—taking its name from Obama’s status as the 44th president—is the ideal night out for any “46” supporters, who want to see the best of Biden’s reputation and image restored after his 2024 election loss and ejection from the White House. On stage, the charismatic and glisteningly buff Doreck leaps about, dances like a crazy person, mugs (gazing at Obama with a slightly desirous look of adoration), jokes, charms the audience, and rips off his shirt to show that a vice president, far from being the standing-silently-to-the-side wallfower deputy, really can have more fun. 44 is also strange, because while Barack Obama (T.J. Wilkins) and Michelle Obama (Shanice) are represented on stage in glowing, very rooted terms, singing soaring ballads and saying resonant things about wanting the best for the country, making history (as America’s first Black president), fighting for change and equality, and Michelle Obama’s grace and stature, the material that really gees the audience up is the crazier stuff. (Baumann is doing quadruple duty, writing the book, music, and lyrics, and directing the show.) Alongside Doreck’s high-energy hilarity as Biden, also reveling in their character’s exuberant extremes are Larry Cedar as Mitch McConnell, Chelsea Morgan Stock as Sarah Palin (Summer Collins usually features in the role), Jenna Pastuszek as Hillary Clinton, Dino Shorté as Herman Cain, Jeff Sumner as Lindsay Graham, and Michael Uribes as Ted Cruz, who merits an entire song dedicated to how loathsome he is—with an audience-participation refrain. All these performers bear out the maxim that the devil has the best tunes, with Stock giving Tina Fey a run for her money in mastering Palin’s sunny-voiced viciousness, and the excellent Shorté imagining Cain as a doughty conservative, who—ideological agreements aside—finds it ever harder to be around the blatant racism of white Republicans. Pastuszek’s Hillary scrunches up her face in abject fury at consistently being bested by men she considers less able than her, while Cedar gloriously nails a wrong-and-right-on-so-many-levels rap number. One of the evening’s biggest laughs, which comes out of nowhere from Sumner as Lindsay Graham, is almost inaudible, deliciously underplayed, and the best exit line I have seen in the theater so far this year. (On not a huge stage, with tricky design features, props to the cast, Baumann, and choreographer Miss James Alsop for the intense dance sequences, while Matthew Hemesath’s costuming is precisely observed perfection, pantsuits and all.) The contrast between 44’s two modes of storytelling—the crazies smashing up the asylum and Biden in a wacked-out world of his own, versus Obama’s sober and heartfelt interrogation of his leadership style and presidential purpose—becomes ever more pronounced. You cheer when Wilkins is allowed, all-too-briefly, to let rip and have fun. But you rarely see his Obama taking serious charge. He seems more tortured than charismatic and commanding. The show flirts, then backs away, from serious considerations of power-play and policy. But if the intention of 44 is to partly make a case (in its serious mode) for the work Obama did and change he oversaw, and the legacy of both today, it falls short, leaving his character—surely unintentionally—seeming a little stiff, boring, and ineffectual. In a bizarre set of scenes, 44 suddenly has Obama mysteriously leaving the White House (where to? Michelle seems worried he may not return), with the Republicans ready to sneak in while he’s out having a walk to steal it and the country. This leads to a damp squib of a confrontation, and Obama somehow regaining power and his sense of self. “It’s motherf---ing Obama” the show’s central, much-repeated lyric goes in a tone of wonderstruck admiration. It may be merited, but the show in his name doesn’t make a convincing case for his political mastery. Instead, this is all Joe Biden’s night.
