One sure sign of a poor musical is that it consists of all work and no play. The dancers pound the floor boards like maniacal trip hammers. Sweat glazes the hero as his arms flail, his eyes pop, and he tries to kick his toes into the wings. To amplify the hollow book, microphones soup up the sound till it becomes the aural equivalent of the medieval ordeal by fire. George M!—the latest of the Broadway season's unbroken string of execrable musicals—qualifies on all counts.
The evening is essentially a family album of George M. Cohan's music. This may be...
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