Perhaps that's the price you pay for prioritizing glossy shine over dismal realism (Sarah Laux's period costumes are all finely polished, from bad-boy gangster to swooning girl on American Bandstand). Dion's battle with drugs becomes the dramatic thrust of the musical (don't worry, we're still dancing in our chairs to "Runaround Sue") and the power of addiction inspires some of Messina's bigger creative swings, none of which land a perfect 10 but are appreciated for their boldness nonetheless.įerrone effectively teases out some of the darker corners of this story in his direction, but as a musical that hinges on upbeat production numbers and a romance we know is destined for a happy ending, the tone of the show is perpetually imbalanced.
He encourages Dion to pursue his career on his own terms: On the one hand, an empowering stance for an artist, but on the other, a selfish and isolating impulse fit for an addict. The misspelled acronym " Wealth, Onor, Pleasure, Power" becomes Dion's guiding mantra - an incantation of sorts bestowed by his mysterious consigliere named Johnny, played by Joey McIntyre like a devilish Jiminy Cricket. Wartella as Dion, with Johnny Tammaro and Joli Tribuzio as his parents Pat and Frances DiMucci. Dion, meanwhile, would rather listen to Hank Williams albums and play his guitar, the antithesis of his Italian destiny to croon (Joli Tribuzio plays a delightfully wry middleman between father and son as Dion's mother, Frances, a quintessential New York Italian matriarch). His father, Pat (Johnny Tammaro), a failed entertainer himself, just wants Dion to sing what sells so he can finally have a nice house with a yard upstate. Rather than another be-careful-what-you-wish-for parable of fame, The Wanderer follows Dion from 1958 to 1968 as he resists the hit-making machine from the start. And we can't forget the signature moment of four humble guys from the neighborhood discovering their sound on a New York City streetcorner (Stephen Cerf, Billy Finn, and Jess LeProtto make a fabulous trio of Belmonts).ĭespite the many familiar tropes, book writer Charles Messina deviates from the mean a bit with subtle variations on traditional themes that pay off in their specificity. There's also a host of of crowd-pleasing dance numbers, wonderfully choreographed by Sarah O'Gleby and performed by a stellar ensemble, and an eye-catching set by Beowulf Boritt, who previously familiarized himself with the sights and sounds of Belmont Avenue during his work for Paper Mill's 2016 production of A Bronx Tale (a show that moved to Broadway in 2018). Wartella and the cast of The Wanderer at Paper Mill Playhouse.Īs for the story, it broadly follows the biomusical formula: An artist with big dreams, a rise to stardom, a fall from grace, and a final atonement with a sweet love story as our prize (the infinitely endearing Christy Altomare, best known as Broadway's Anastasia, plays Dion's eventual wife Susan). Insolence, charm, anger, mischief - not to mention a beautiful voice with just enough rasp to suggest a rocker's rugged spirit - if The Wanderer makes that coveted move to Broadway, it seems impossible that Wartella would not go with it. Performing a laundry list of exciting arrangements by Sonny Paladino (who also provides the orchestrations), Wartella manages to pack multitudes into a character that could easily be diluted to a 1950s greaser with a guitar. That tireless exuberance is fueled by the phenomenal leading performance by Mike Wartella, who rarely gets a moment off stage. It also doesn't hurt that The Wanderer makes you feel like dancing from start to finish. How does a kid from the Bronx go from singing the gentle doo-wop harmonies of "I Wonder Why" with the Belmonts to R&B numbers like "Ruby Baby" to the acoustic folk ballad "Abraham, Martin And John"? Dion's discography tells its own story, and now The Wanderer, directed by Kenneth Ferrone in its long-delayed world premiere at Paper Mill Playhouse, does a sometimes wandering but altogether engrossing job filling in the blanks. Of all the performers whose lives have been distilled into biomusicals, the life of Dion DiMucci - or just Dion for those asking - makes one of the more compelling arguments for such a theatrical treatment.
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