Take Me Out to the Tonys

Some years I have a mediocre batting average regarding the Tony Awards, and this year was no exception. What was embarrassing was that, for the first time, I was actually a voter. Yes, I was one of the 764 (or 753, or whatever it is since I've seen conlicting reports) lucky souls who held in their hands, as if channeling the power of Dionysus (the god of wine and patron of the theatre), the fortunes of the fusty, musty, lusty artisans of Broadway.

Let me tell you about the ballot. For one thing, it looks both majestic and daunting. I'm talking about the font, which looks like Dionysus immersed himself in a sea of serifs pre-approved by Zeus. On the front were some stern, concise dicta: sign the envelope, don't sign the ballot; use an "X," not a check mark; look both ways before crossing, etc. Okay, I exaggerate. But it really was as if an invisible finger was leaping off the page and wagging at you, screaming "Don't screw it up! Don't screw it up!" like a desperate stage mother or, if you like, a mynah bird.

Now, I'm not talking about my batting average for the technical honors. I was certain Sarah Travis would win for her orchestrations for the revival of Sweeney Todd (she did), and I had a basic bead on how the set, costume and lighting design honors would go. (It was fair: The History Boys won for Bob Crowley's set and Mark Henderson's lighting; Awake and Sing! won for Catherine Zuber's costumes; The Drowsy Chaperone won for David Gallo's set and Gregg Barnes' costumes; Jersey Boys won for Howell Binkley's lighting.)

But I've already spent more time talking about the design awards than most voters spent thinking about them. Most critics can't effectively analyze design because most of them (but not this one) have never left their caves long enough to do professional theatre, but we're only a tiny group anyway. Most producers-which comprise something like 50 percent of the voters-can't tell the difference between "seam" and "seem." Worse, a chunk of those producers are from "out of town"-industry argot for "red state." My suspicion is when these producers cast their ballots, their internal debate falls somewhere between "Were the actors lit when I saw the show?" and "Was I lit when I saw the show?"

No, for me my honor was staked on the acting awards-leading and featured actor and actress in a play and musical-and those twin peaks, best play and best musical. Some winners I expected: Richard Griffiths and Frances de la Tour as leading actor and featured actress in a play, respectively, for The History Boys; Cynthia Nixon as leading actress in a play for Rabbit Hole. But I was also sure that Jim Dale, whose only Tony was for Barnum in the year of the flood, would win another for

featured actor in a musical for The Threepenny Opera, but Christian Hoff of Jersey Boys won. I was sure that Samuel Barnett, who broke my heart in The History Boys, would win for featured actor in a play, but Ian McDiarmid of Faith Healer won.

You won't often find critics admitting to an affection for Divadom-that special land where the Patti LuPones and Betty Buckleys of the earth are grown-but I honestly felt in my bones that LuPone, who is my favorite diva and who won her only Tony the same year as Dale, would win for leading actress in a musical for Sweeney Todd. Well, if you'll pardon me for paraphrasing another great thespian-Britney Spears-ooops, I was wrong again. LaChanze, the one-named star of The Color Purple, won, thus sparing producer Oprah Winfrey (one of 60 presenters on the flub-filled CBS telecast) an anguished session with Dr. Phil.

John Lloyd Young was a well-deserving winner for leading actor in a musical for Jersey Boys as was Beth Leavel, who won for featured actress in a musical for The Drowsy Chaperone. Everyone expected Nicholas Hytner to win for best director of a play for The History Boys; ditto John Doyle as best director of a musical for Sweeney Todd. But I never expected The Pajama Game to trump Sweeney for best revival, and while there was no chance in Hades that The History Boys wouldn't win best play, I couldn't believe-I was slack-jawed-that Jersey Boys took best musical.

Have you figured out my votes, my hits and misses? Well, here's a confession: If I remember correctly, part of the finger wagging instructions was not to share how you voted. On Broadway, see, there's no difference between voting for the Tony Awards and voting in papal conclaves, except for the sex. Well, maybe there's no difference at all.

So if you're reading this and thinking, "You led me on-that sucks!" you're right, that is pretty snarky. But let's consider how much this year's ceremony sucked as well. There was poor Harry Connick, Jr., on meds for his back pain, singing woozily, and except for Christine Ebersole's devastatingly funny line about a Republican puppet, it was the lamest show in years. All I have is my mediocre batting average to fall back on, which maybe explains why the ratings were up 20 percent over last year. It only makes sense.