Mizrahi’s narration evolves yearly too, though every performance showcases his no-nonsense wit. This season’s topical tweaks included jokes about Ozempic. And the Duck pointedly carried a PBS canvas tote. The Hunter took a selfie with the captured Wolf. Mizrahi prefaced the show’s violence by comparing it to “that Claire Danes Matthew Rhys show that scares you in a fun way.”
He wasn’t kidding about the savagery, or about how the kids would love it. When the Wolf devoured the Duck offstage, the theater flashed blood red (Brandon Stirling Baker did the dramatic lighting) and Prokofiev’s dissonant chords blared—it helped that the musicians flank the audience up close in the petite theater, making for thrilling surround sound. There was a giant burp noise, then the Wolf returned to rip up the oboe sheet music while the oboist, JJ Silvey, sat forlornly. It was intense. My five-year-old, incredulous, shouted “Oh my God!” It looked like he might cry. Afterwards, he said it was his favorite part.
The Grandfather’s dotage was a hit with the toddler and adult crowds alike. Norton Owen, terrifically game, kept shuffling in too early, much to the kids’ delight. “It’s not always about you, but your generation seems to think it is” Mizrahi scolded him, which scored with the parents. When Owen missed his actual cue, everyone cracked up. Likewise when he wouldn’t leave the stage, twirling his cane with glee. His heel clicks and fez hat evoked the Husband in Jerome Robbins’s “The Concert.”
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