Nothing to See Here, Folks

Everyone loves a good nostalgia trip. Whether it’s filmmakers making ersatz John Hughes movies or performers trying to resuscitate vaudeville and burlesque, everything old is constantly, incessantly new again. And so it goes with Tanya O’Debra’s Radio Star, a one-woman show (mostly) that seeks to evoke the days of serialized radio dramas.

You’d be forgiven for thinking, on the basis of the word “star” in the title and O’Debra’s grande dame entrance, that there would be more to Radio Star than just one woman performing all the roles in a bawdy, retro detective show. But… that’s all there is. O’Debra takes her seat at a microphone that looks as if Elvis should be using it to hold himself upright while his hips take over, and then proceeds to create a half dozen vocally dissimilar characters in a show about a private dick and a murder case.

There can be no doubting O’Debra’s talent: She has a vocal arsenal that puts Saturday Night Live’s Kristin Wiig to shame. But even at just under an hour, Radio Star starts to drag. It’s all very well to grab our attention by delivering anachronistic jokes in the style of a ’40s ingénue, but that isn’t quite enough to keep our attention.

And those period imperfect jokes can be frustratingly stale. For every sexual innuendo calmly, fully and hilariously explained, there’s a joke about Facebook or Snuggies— two topics that have by now earned them selves a place alongside airline food and how uptight white people can be on the list of bad comedian’s set lists.

One longs for O’Debra to push Radio Star just a few steps further, to open up the play to something more than just the recreation of an experience that never required your full attention. A full-throttle diva fit during a commercial break would certainly be more entertaining than the uninspired jingles that dimly play while O’Debra sips water. Rupert Holmes’ AMC series about the heyday of radio programming, Remember WENN,was an exemplary example of how to pay homage to the days of radio via a visual format, without sacrificing character or drama. Instead, our gaze wanders to J. Lincoln Hallowell, Jr., as O’Debra’s soundman and announcer, which is unfortunate. Missing or jumping cues, Hallowell lacks O’Debra’s perfect composure under the scrutiny of audience members who don’t have much else to look at.

Even if there’s not a lot to see, at least O’Debra, who also wrote the script, jams in as many plot twists and jokes as possible, most of which are winningly sold with her solid, unruffled commitment to her material. Talented, with a distinctive off-beat sense of humor, O’Debra should be using her prodigious talents for something more than the occasionally limp one-woman show she’s created for herself.

-- Radio Star Thru Jan. 26, The Red Room, 85 E. 4th St. (betw. 2nd Ave. & Bowery), 212-868-4444; $15.