Remember Steambath or Outward Bound? Plays that take place in limbo where people don't know they're dead? Happiness, book by John Weidman, music by Scott Frankel, lyrics by Michael Korie, now at Lincoln Center, is another one, and this time, the transition vehicle is a subway car filled with a warm, friendly cross-section of New York. They are to pick a happy time in their lives, revisit it, and then can stay there forever. An earnest Hunter Foster is the conductor, and all of the very large cast can sing well.
Director/choreographer Susan Stroman has done as much as possible with the material, but it's a musical with virtually no memorable songs except possibly "Road to Nirvana" sung by the glowing Joanna Gleason whose radiance fills the theater, and stories that are mostly corny and ordinary.
It's "10 Little Indians" as one after the other of the deceased conjures and then leaves. There's a cute tooth fairy number, an attempt at levity and tolerance when a Jewish/Chinese couple endeavor to learn words in each other's language, and an entertaining fantasy of shtupping Mick Jagger. Gleason's trip to the '60's is fun because she has such a strong presence, but it's a pale shadow of Hair.
There is some preaching, some shallow philosophy. The show is basically static, so there has to be some movement and action, and there is -- in the brilliant, active set by Thomas Lynch. It's inspired, but it can't dazzle us with footwork into thinking the book is, too. Costumes by William Ivey Long and Donald Holder's lighting are, as usual, excellent. But the choices of situations explored are obvious, ordinary, without innovation or sparkle, and without any tangents of brilliance. It's all okay, which is not enough for me. As we used to say: "You walk out whistling the scenery."
