‘Lysistrata Jones’ on Broadway: A Glimpse before Closing

Unless I write this very, very fast, and you read even faster, the new musical comedy Lysistrata Jones will have ended its Broadway run by the time you read this. Twenty-five years after the demise of Rags and one year after I attended the final performance of the dispiriting Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, I feel terrible whenever a show closes. In this case, I spent a great deal of time wondering where the show will go next on a fascinating path that took it from the Dallas Theater Center to a real gymnasium off-Broadway to the bright lights of the Walter Kerr Theater.

I wondered, too, what will become of Lysistrata Jones’ winning cast in a Broadway environment that seems increasingly incapable of supporting bright young talent in anything but the generic chorus of a tourist-trap thrill-ride. I didn’t spend much time wondering what went wrong with this show, however, or why it’s closing: that much seems clear.

Hetaira (Liz Mikel) holds court.

Much to my relief, Douglas Carter Beane’s book is not a transplantation of Aristophanes’ antiwar comedy to a college cheerleading squad. After all, basketball is an uneasy equivalent for war.* Lysistrata Jones isn’t Carmen Jones, not an updating or retelling in different context but merely a starting point: this is another story entirely, in which Aristophanes’ play (or the Spark Notes thereto) inspires a plucky blonde cheerleader. And so the present-day Lysistrata (named by parents who were theater majors) tries to force the hapless but horny Athens University basketball team to win a game.

Beane’s script is awfully clever — starting with the fact that a basketball team is just five guys, and thus cheap to produce. Occasionally Beane is too clever, as when Lysistrata makes a (very good, probably irresistible) joke with the name of Amelia Earhart as its punchline — though the character we’ve seen is unlikely ever to have heard of the lost aviatrix. Still, there’s room here for a smart, sassy cast to have plenty of fun, and to keep the script topical (like Lysistrata’s equally unlikely, equally funny reference to Kim Jong-il) and fresh.

A little learning: Lysistrata shares a plot from Aristophanes.
Left to right: Sharnell, Nejat, Murin, Boren, Chambers.

There’s a message about personal courage, and giving up the things that hold you back, but nothing heavy: the real purpose of this show is to provide a good time, with peppy songs and, above all, lively choreography by the director, Dan Knechtges. So much of Broadway dancing reminds me of cheerleading moves, so I wasn’t surprised to see the link forged here: what did surprise me was Knechtges’ inventive use of basketball moves, and the unstoppable kinetic energy of the cast. LaQuet Sharnell (as Myrrhine) boasts the precision and grace of a prima ballerina — that she can sing, too, and damned well, seems almost too much to ask.

Lewis Flinn’s score breaks down to a mere 13 numbers in the playbill, yet the show is almost through-composed, which really keeps things zipping along. (I was amazed to realize how long Act I really is.) Even when Flinn kicks out one of the harder-rocking numbers, the songs remain feather-light; while listening, I thought one or two might prove memorable, and the fact that, today, I can’t remember a single melody doesn’t make them any less effective in context or exemplary in craftsmanship. I’d willingly buy the cast album, if there is one, and I daresay I’d play it from time to time. The catch is that this show simply doesn’t boast the one or two surefire hit songs that might have drawn a bigger crowd.

Play ball! Knechtges’ choreography keeps the whole show aloft.

The producers mitigated some of the pleasure of Lysistrata Jones by overmiking Flinn’s score. There are several powerful voices onstage here, including those of Sharnell, Patti Murin (as Lysistrata), and Liz Mikel (as the muse/madam Hetaira). But where’s the excitement of being in a room with a woman with a great voice when the amps are cranked up to the point you can barely understand her lyrics? Mikel’s voice is not only strong but big, yet the sound designer, Tony Meola, threw in a reverb for many of her numbers: we might as well have been listening with an ear trumpet to a computer in a well. That’s not the effect an intimate show like this should have been aiming for.

Murin is another multiple-threat performer who sings and dances and looks delicious, and she managed the tricky feat of making Lysistrata dumb yet appealing, funny yet sympathetic, too. As her boyfriend, Josh Segarra was up to something similar, with just a suggestion of John Travolta’s Vinnie Barbarino to help convey the sweetness beneath the swaggering. His big ballad, crooned in his upper register, was undermined by overmiking, another victim of the sound design.

Battle of the sexes: Segarra and Murin face off.

Part of the fun of the show is watching several couples — all of whom seem like matched sets — wind up with unexpected partners. You fully expect that Robin (Lindsay Nicole Chambers) and Xander (Jason Tam), the brainiest kids on campus, will pair off; the next-brainiest characters, Sharnell’s Myrrhine and Ato Blankson-Wood’s elegant Tyllis, seem almost the same person, black kids baffled by the street-talkin’ non-blacks around them. Myrrhine and Tyllis seem destined for each other, but Beane’s script holds a few surprises in store.

For example, Xander, who’s underused in Act I, really blossoms in Act II, especially given Tam’s performance, which in an earlier Broadway era would be star-making. He’s like a cross between Johnny Galecki and John Leguizamo and yet wholly original. (His dance numbers are at once clumsy-looking and gorgeous, and very funny.) Along similar lines, the small role of Harold (Teddy Toye) all but disappears in the background until his big moment, near the end of the show.

Stars of tomorrow? In Broadway's heyday, Murin and Tam
might be household names already.

Beane’s script opts for many, many easy laughs through the use of stereotypes, and here his lack of ambition — of wit — is especially disappointing. He deserves kudos for setting up a multi-culti cast, but ultimately he doesn’t do much with the characters most of them play.

Hetaira is nothing but a bundle of tired ideas about big black ladies and heart-of-gold hookers — though you hardly mind while the charismatic Mikel is onstage. The Latin couple (Kat Nejat and Alexander Aguilar) continually remind us that they’re Latin, but there’s no real payoff, and precious little wordplay, even, in the Spanglish that Nejat almost unintelligibly deploys. Fly-for-a-white-boy Cinesias (Alex Wyse) makes a furtive attempt to transcend the stereotypes, yet by the time the show’s over, Beane lets him (and us) down. Beane forgot to write anything at all for Lampito (Katie Boren), the Tina Chang of this show.

Hetaira shares her wisdom, because what else
would a sassy black woman do in a Broadway musical?

Make no mistake, however: while some characters are written better than others, all the actors are tremendously appealing, and Lysistrata is a terrific showcase for them. Cute, sexy, and high-spirited, they sing and dance their hearts out, and I look forward to seeing every one of them again, soon and often. I had a good time, and overall Lysistrata Jones is a sturdy vehicle.

That said, it’s easy enough to see what went wrong here. With a cast of 12 non-famous actors and an “orchestra” of seven, and with a script larded with smartass references to Classical and pop cultures, the show belongs where it began, in regional theater companies and offbeat venues — such as gymnasia. Before any of those future players and producers can hear about your show, however, you’ve got to run on Broadway. The gamble was necessary, but it was a gamble.

Show me the money: This is as glitzy as Moyer’s set design gets.
(That’s not saying it isn’t effective.)
Lysistrata and the girls prepare to teach the boys a lesson.
Costumes by David C. Woolard & Thomas Charles LeGalley.

After all, ticket prices at the Walter Kerr break down to roughly $10 per actor and musician, and the set (by Allen Moyer) and staging — fun as they are — look as if they’re still in a gymnasium. There’s simply no way, even given the legendary (or urban-legendary) demands of theater unions, that this show cost very much to produce. And yet audiences were expected to pay as much (or nearly) for the unknown Lysistrata Jones as they’d pay for the more eye-popping, densely populated, and comfortably familiar Mary Poppins or Phantom of the Opera.

Lysistrata Jones nearly pulled off the trick, which is why I’m absolutely certain that the show will live on. Word of mouth was mostly excellent, and the review in the New York Times might have been written in electric ink, so glowing it was. Plucky producers with energetic actors are going to produce this show — and when it comes your way, I daresay you’ll have a good time.

Some of the illustrations come from the off-Broadway production,
at the Gym at Judson. I can hardly tell which are which.

*NOTE: The correct equivalent for war is rugby — as everyone knows.

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Backlash Ensues over Santorum ‘Blah People’ Remark

Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum denied recently making comments about “black people’s lives” after receiving criticism for the remarks. Santorum took heat after saying, “I don’t want to make black people’s lives better by giving them somebody else’s money.”

During an appearance on FOX News Channel’s The O’Reilly Factor, he denied ever making the comments, saying the remark was the result of “a little bit of a blurred word.” “I looked at that, and I didn’t say that,” Santorum told O’Reilly. “If you look at it, what I started to say is a word and then sort of changed and it sort of — ‘blah’— came out. And people said I said ‘black.’ I didn’t.”

-- from The Huffington Post

LITTLE BORES HEAD, NH -- Dull, uninteresting, run-of-the-mill, and downright mediocre people are up in arms following what they construe as “an unwarranted, frankly bigoted attack” from Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum, a spokesman for the League of Boring Voters, Herbert Velveeta, said today.

Since attempting to excuse what many interpreted as a racial slur, Santorum has been on the receiving end of a frothing wave of anger from protesters who dog his campaign appearances but who otherwise wouldn’t have the gumption to say “Blah” to a goose.

“We thought he was one of us,” Velveeta said. “He even wears sweater vests! But until we get an apology, we’re going to bang the humdrum loudly, I promise you.”

Blah voters are estimated to represent approximately 30 percent of the American electorate, said statistician Ludlow Ogden Schnorr of the Nebraska Institute for Statistics. “Blah Americans can be found in every community, every faith, and many lines of work,” Schnorr said, “including chartered accountancy, bookkeeping, cheesemaking, computer repair, and — this will surprise a lot of people, given how exciting the field is perceived to be — even statistics.”

Despite his near-victory in the Iowa caucuses last week, the chances of the former U.S. Senator from Pennsylvania may be affected negatively by the backlash in the aftermath of his “blah” remark, but many New Hampshire voters said they had yet to see Santorum’s appeal.

“I’ve never believed that Rick Santorum shared the values of rank-and-file Blah Americans,” said Jane Smith, of Happy Valley, NH. “He’s always talking about sex. It’s like the man is obsessed. Have you seen his Google site? Disgusting!”

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Patsy & Edina Ride Again

Seems like old times: Bubble reenacts the Royal Wedding.
Left to right: Jennifer Saunders (Edina), Jane Horrocks (Bubble), Julia Sawalha (Saffy), Joanna Lumley (Patsy), Christopher Malcolm (Justin).

On the strength of the first of three new episodes of Absolutely Fabulous, Jennifer Saunders is back in form. That episode was broadcast in Britain over the Christmas holiday; immediately, it leaked to the Internet, where I watched it. The official U.S. premiere is Sunday evening, on Logo, a cable channel.

It’s great fun to be reunited with Edina Monsoon (Saunders) and Patsy Stone (Joanna Lumley), but especially so since many other AbFab specials have been such lackluster affairs. For a while, it even seemed possible that Saunders had forgotten how to write her show. Again and again, she’d resorted to a cavalcade of celebrity guest stars, whose turns were seldom as much fun as the misbehavior and interactions of the family/coven of Patsy, Eddy, Saffy, Mother, and Bubble. Moreover, the rich and famous stole time and focus away from those core characters. In short, we were cheated: promised AbFab but given something far less satisfying.

At least for the first new episode, Saunders has learned her lesson. We even get — bliss! — a long kitchen-table scene in which the women discuss the latest trends and gossip. Merely reading a magazine can lead reliably to a scene of great dialogue in this series, and here we get commentary on hot topics such as the Kardashians and Prince William’s wedding, brilliantly reenacted by Bubble. It seems like old times — and good times, at that.

Shopping, sweetie.

What makes such scenes funny is anger — of a sort that can’t quite be expressed when the real-life celebrity is standing next to you. Oftentimes, AbFab has struck me as an extended shriek of protest against the images of womanhood purveyed in popular culture. The central characters react accordingly: Patsy and Eddy try to keep up with every latest anything, Saffy lectures and abstains. When she allows herself the freedom, Saunders makes it all funny.

When the series first appeared in the United States, another analysis of AbFab held me captive: it seemed to be a show about two drag queens, bedecked in flamboyant costumes, prone to outrageous behavior and provocative conversation. (Small wonder that, from the first day forward, men started dressing up as Patsy and Eddy.) The catch was that women played the leads, making the show more palatable, if only a little less subversive, for a mainstream audience. Just as drag often comments on society’s notions of sex, so too does AbFab, and nowadays I hold to my original interpretation, if not quite so emphatically.

But that’s from the highbrow. From the heart, what you need to know about the AbFab reunion is that the familiar characters are delightfully true to themselves — despite some surprising new situations. (For instance, the person you’d least expect has just spent two years in prison.) That’s always been the strength of AbFab: taking two perfectly awful women and listening to what they say. We don’t really care what Elton John or Whoopi Goldberg says here; we care about Patsy and Eddy and their continuous collisions with the universe.

Eurydice Colette Clytemnestra Dido Bathsheba Rabelais Patricia Cocteau Stone

Plot is nearly superfluous in this show: what matters is never that Edina rents a house in France or drives her own car to the supermarket, but what she says (and what she drinks) when she gets there. As a writer, Saunders has sometimes misjudged her work, as when she decided that AbFab was really about a mother–daughter relationship, as if that were what set the show apart from anything that had ever been on television before. We’d seen plenty of mothers and daughters, but we’d never seen Patsy Stone.

One advantage, however, to Saunders’ long and sometimes erratic writing process is the development of character relationships that redeem the otherwise irredeemable Patsy and Eddy: this means that they’re still fun to hang out with. The ladies may take their sweet time getting around to it, but in the end, their devotion to one another (and even to Saffy) conquers all. At the same time, no matter how extravagant their excesses, we can see that Patsy and Eddy are admirable, in their way. There’s something courageous, even heroic, about their struggles to have a good time, to stay young forever, to get to the top and stay there.

The enduring alliance: Edina and Patsy

The first new episode includes some terrific scenes in which Eddy helps Patsy make sense of her finances (confronting a bureaucrat who, in earlier “specials,” would have been played by somebody famous), and in which Saffy is left a very long time wondering whether her mother will ever stick up for her in what is surely the direst conflict she’s had to face (with an ex-convict who, likewise, might have been played by a celebrity but is instead played by a highly competent actress).

All of the leading ladies look terrific, too. Jane Horrocks (Bubble) and June Whitfield (Mother) have aged most notably, but they’re still charmers — and mercifully, the Katie Grin character seems to have vanished. (Saunders devised Katie to give the chronically underused Horrocks more to do, as well as a more mature role than that of the adolescent Bubble — but I’ve always found Katie relentlessly unfunny, uninteresting, and unsatisfying.) Julia Sawalha looks exactly the same as ever, but they’ve given up any pretense to Saffy’s still being a schoolgirl. Now she’s creeping up on middle age — which of course is what she was born for.

Clearly, I’m not the only one pleased with the results of this reunion. In the press, Jennifer Saunders has begun talking again about an AbFab movie, to be set in the South of France. Much of the English-speaking world probably knows nothing of the terrible French movie that was already made, years ago. Having endured the French version, on an airplane from which, remarkably, I did not jump, I might not be enthusiastic about the prospects of a new movie — even an authentic one.

But on the strength of this reunion, I say, “Bring it on.” I can use a good dose of extravagance and audacity right about now.

What’s wrong with this picture? Everything!
Josiane Balasko as Eddie Mousson (French for “monsoon”) with Johnny Hallyday’s real-life ex, the great Nathalie Baye, as Patricia. Boy, she must really have needed the money. Absolument Fabuleux (2001) set back the cause of French cinema by approximately four centuries: now they’re going to have to invent movies all over again.

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William Duell

Like the great character actors of Hollywood’s Golden Age, Duell pops up in dozens of roles. Here he is in his recurring role as an informant in the short-lived TV series Police Squad!
I imagine he looked much like this when playing Filch.

The New York Times reports that the character actor William Duell has died, at the age of 88, and in his obituary the Paper of Record very nearly does justice to the length and varied breadth of his career. Long after the heyday of quirky character actors in Hollywood, Duell lent spice and interest to dozens of movies and plays. He was never a star, as we understand these things, but he was a lovely man, whom I had the pleasure of meeting once. The Times does give you some sense of that.

What the Times neglects to mention is that Duell set and held a record for the longest-running performance in an off-Broadway play. Starting in 1954, and ending in 1961, Duell played in the ensemble of the legendary revival of Weill’s Threepenny Opera, in Marc Blitzstein’s adaptation at the Theater de Lys in New York.

As Filch, one of Macheath’s gang, as well as the Mounted Messenger, Duell became a crucial part of one of the most important cultural events in postwar America.

Yes, you do know that face:
Duell in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Outside the tiny theater, the Cold War and the Witch Hunt raged — but inside, dissenting voices rose in song. Blacklisted actors, including my beloved Madeline Gilford, found work in the show, and a steady stream of lefty intellectuals at the box office guaranteed the show its long run.

But it wasn’t only the congregation of those who were already persuaded to whom the Threepenny choir sang. Surely most of the people who have heard Louis Armstrong and Bobby Darrin’s recordings of “Mack the Knife” (which use Blitzstein’s lyrics and incorporate Lotte Lenya’s name among the list of Mack’s conquests) have had no idea where the song came from. I certainly didn’t, when I first heard it.

What’s more, the Theater de Lys Threepenny inspired a younger generation of smart, progressive kids; its score provided their anthems, and, among those who were artists, the show itself helped to focus their ambitions. When I found out that Madeline Kahn was a Weill fan in her youth, everything about her mind and her sense of theater became clear to me.

Poster from the Theater de Lys production.
Today the theater, on Christopher Street, bears the name
of its most celebrated producer, Lucille Lortel.

Bright young New Yorkers went out and learned about Bertolt Brecht, and tried to adapt his ideas for their own shows — very often in tiny little theaters “off-Broadway,” a locale that hadn’t even existed before Threepenny.

We’re still feeling the effects of those performances and calculating the show’s influence. As a training ground for actors, too, the show was unparalleled: among the cast members over the seven years were Beatrice Arthur, Ed Asner, Estelle Parsons, John Astin, Jerry Orbach, Jane Connell, Jerry Stiller, and hundreds more. Going through the old playbills in the Weill archive, I marveled — and without going through them again, I can’t give you anything like a complete list of the distinguished names. Suffice to say that, for decades, you couldn’t turn on the TV or watch a movie or go to a play without seeing an alumnus of Threepenny.

Some 700 actors cycled through the cast of that show, creating a landmark in American culture — but only one actor stuck it out to the end. His name was William Duell, and I thought you ought to know.

Meeting Duell in a rehearsal studio many years ago, I talked to him about Threepenny. (At the time, I nurtured a little fantasy of writing a book of interviews with the cast of the revival.) He was immensely proud not only of his record-setting run but also of the show itself.

NOTE: William Duell’s obituary in Playbill makes prominent mention of Threepenny, and reminds me that Duell took part in Richard Foreman’s Lincoln Center revival of Threepenny in the 1970s. Although I now recall that Duell himself made a point of mentioning it when we spoke, I’d forgotten completely when I wrote this essay this morning. So I really ought not be so quick to criticize the Times obituary-writer.

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Survey: Iowa Voters Ruining It for Everybody, Reporters Say

CLIMAX, IOWA* -- A new survey released just minutes ago finds that an overwhelming majority of news reporters believe Iowa voters are on the brink of spoiling the process for everybody.

“For months, we’ve been happily going about our work, predicting winners and losers, guessing at who’s ahead and who’s behind and what that means, without anybody casting a single vote,” Tess Harding of the AP told pollsters. “All that’s about to change. Thanks for nothing, Iowa.”

This morning’s survey figures showed reporters in agreement, with 29 percent in a comfortable lead over 17 percent. Among pollsters, a critical demographic segment here in Iowa, there was no clear winner, however, with 14 percent speculating, 12 percent predicting, 11 percent horse racing, 9 percent self-pitying, and 8 percent contemptuous.

“Clearly, this is one of the most exciting horse races we’ve seen so far in this election cycle,” Ann Mitchell of Politico said. “I’ve never seen so many horses! Also cows.”

“The volatility is astonishing, and the ‘anyone-but-Iowa’ segment just seems to careen from one rival to another,” the Des Moines Register’s Henry Connell said of the latest survey. “I don’t think you can discount the importance of the Tea Party-slash-Occupy Wall Street-style discontent among reporters here, which translates into an almost palpable restlessness and desire to throw the bums out. It’s neck-and-neck, hold-your-breath excitement here!”

Diz Moore of interrupted Connell, saying, “The really significant trend, however, is — oh, who am I kidding? Once Iowans start to vote, there’ll be nothing left to live for.”

According to today’s survey, 85 percent of political reporters overall demanded another survey, for old time’s sake, while a statistically negligible 4 percent preferred sticking their fingers in their ears and singing “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

This represents a marked shift from two weeks ago, when Iowa reporters favored “Jingle Bells.” Analysts say the trend away from Christmas carols reflects nationwide preferences among other analysts of analysis.

“Before today, basically, we could make it all up — and very often we did,” Sam Craig of The Washington Times said. “After all, who could prove we were wrong? The only hard data was the stuff we generated ourselves! Now actual voters will get involved, muddying the water by creating verifiable statistics of their own. Rank amateurs!”

With striking unanimity, political reporters and analysts told pollsters they believe that actual voting could “shake up the field” of candidates, with serious consequences.

“So Iowa votes, and the next thing you know, some of these clowns are going to drop out,” Chuck Tatum of CNN said. “Instead of a half-dozen colorful candidates, you’ll have just one or two. Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to come up with stuff to say about them, day after day, hour after hour, until November?”

Some analysts recommended caution, but Hildy Johnson-Burns of Gallup spoke for many colleagues when she urged Iowa voters to postpone the caucus until a later date.

“Actual voting results will provide us with material for, what, a couple of hours? And then what?” Johnson-Burns said. “I’m warning you, Iowa, for your own sake. If you screw this up, we’ll have to pack it up and take our business elsewhere. New Hampshire is starting to look mighty appealing.”




*NOTE: I did not make up that name. The reporters’ names are all from classic Hollywood films.

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‘Glee’-nalysis: Lessons Learned from Sharing the Story of My (Possibly) Gay Cat

Brittany (Morris) with Tubbington

Not long ago, I wrote about my cat, Mr. Whiskas, and his tom-crush on Lord Tubbington, a character on the television show Glee. Whenever Brittany (Heather Morris) picks up Lord Tubbington, Mr. Whiskas jumps on my lap and mews for me to hold him the same way. He has only to hear the name “Tubbington,” and he comes scampering into the den, sits down in front of the television, and waits expectantly for his beloved. And you should hear the caterwauling throughout any Glee episode in which Lord Tubbington doesn’t appear! (Which is most of them, I’m sorry to say.)

It seemed like such a cute story. But then the e-mails, phone calls, and certified letters started to pour in. I wasn’t prepared for the reactions.

“Animal abuse!” some cried. “You’re exploiting your cat’s private emotions for your own benefit!”

“How humiliating!” other people said. “The other kitties are laughing at him already, I hope you realize. And that story is going to be on the Internet for thousands of years, haunting poor Mr. Whiskas!”

“Mr. Whiskas has the right to his own sexuality, without having it broadcast and advertised all over the planet,” said others still. “Coming out should be a personal choice, not dictated by others.”

Funny, they never said a word when I shared the stories of my 6-year-old possibly gay son, my 14-year-old possibly gay daughter, my 19-year-old possibly gay niece, my 37-year-old possibly gay neighbor, or that fortysomething possibly gay guy I keep seeing at the grocery store. (He’s always squeezing the endive. Endive!)

Not to mention the story of my uncle Claude. No “possibly” about that one, right?

“There’s no such thing as a gay cat,” others said. “And if there is, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Bigots! Right here in America! Can you believe it?

Some of the comments I got were even threatening.

“You’d just better hope I never catch you alone in some dark, deserted alley,” one writer said. “I’d grab you roughly by the shoulders, throw you to the ground, and force you to watch this season’s totally terrible Christmas episode over and over until you begged for mercy.”

Well, if that’s the price I have to pay for showing my possibly gay cat that I accept him unconditionally, that nothing can change my love for him, and that really it’s no big deal if he prefers tom to pussy — so be it.

But I’m surprised and saddened to learn how narrow-minded some people can be. Especially when I also hear from literally hundreds of Americans who think their cats may be gay, too. It only strengthens my resolve to be the best cat-mommy ever.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take Mr. Whiskas to his Zumba class.

Because one Tubbington is enough.

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Romney Compares Obama to Character from a Kirsten Dunst Movie

Romney looks forward to challenging Obama at the polls in November. “Bring it on,” the candidate said.

DAVENPORT, IOWA -- President Obama is like a character played in movies by actress Kirsten Dunst, long-time Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney said in a stump speech today.

“Americans only think they like Obama,” Romney said. “People talk about him, they think about him all the time, probably, but without listening to what he’s really saying. They obsess over him like they did that pretty girl Kirsten Dunst played in Virgin Suicides, without ever really paying attention to the real problems underneath,” Romney said.

Also like Dunst, Obama’s name doesn’t sound American, Romney said.

The former Governor of Massachusetts added that if the parents in the film had been Mormon instead of Roman Catholic, and if they’d had five sons instead of daughters, there wouldn’t have been any problem. “But then I guess you wouldn’t have had a movie, either, so it’s kind of a wash.

“But then have you noticed how Obama is constantly cheerleading for his socialist agenda, just the way Kirsten Dunst was cheerleading in Bring It On?” Romney said. “And isn’t Obama sucking the life out of the American economy, just the way Kirsten Dunst sucked blood in Interview with the Vampire?”

Romney conceded that Obama still manages to be adorable,
even when pursuing deadly policies.

When voters size up the prospective candidates for the White House in 2012, Romney said, they should remember another Dunst film, Little Women (1994).

“You sure don’t want to vote for a Beth, do you?” Romney said. “She’s only going to die in office. And Jo is too erratic, sort of a Gingrich type. You never know what she’s going to do next.”

Winona Ryder (Jo), Claire Danes (Beth), Trini Alvarado (Meg),
Dunst (Amy), and Susan Sarandon (Marmee)

“I’m much more of a Meg than an Amy,” Romney said. “And I’m not ashamed to admit that. Meg [played by Trini Alvarado] was the responsible one. Sure, Amy [played by Dunst] may be more entertaining, and she ends up with Christian Bale, but in the final analysis, what America needs is a Meg. Am I right?”

Ronney also compared Obama to the character played by Dunst in the film Marie Antoinette.

“The President wears clothes well, I have to hand him that,” Romney said. “He’s got a nice build. I bet he’d look good in pastels, satin, maybe a little lace. And he’s a good dancer, too.”

In conclusion, Romney said, “Really, in many ways, President Obama is a lot like Kirsten Dunst, when you think about it.”

“Also, Obamacare is like Harry Osborn [James Franco],” Romney suggested. “He may look attractive, but he’s the next Green Goblin.”

Following Romney’s speech, Iowa Republican Earl Earlson, 47, a welder and father of three, told reporters covering the campaign that he remained unimpressed and would probably vote for Ron Paul instead.

“Governor Romney and I just don’t share the same values at heart,” Earlson said. “I guess I’m more of a Reese Witherspoon kind of guy.”

Romney’s critics dismissed the speech as a brazen attempt to court the Kirsten Right, voters who have long suspected the candidate’s commitment to their cause, and whose presence has been noted increasingly at campaign events for Romney’s rivals. “Legalize Mary Jane” banners seen at Ron Paul’s events, for example, are a clear reference to the character played by Dunst in the Spider-Man movies.

Romney declined to take questions from reporters, but through his office released a statement: “This will be a campaign about issues, not personalities,” Romney said, “just like that fine film by Alexander Payne about the high-school election, from 1999, starring Matthew Broderick.”

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