Hugh Jackman and Me

I'm usually pretty happy with local theater. I've been a Theatreworks subscriber for enough years that the other subscribers don't look so very old anymore. I rarely miss a Foothill Music Theatre production, especially ever since that time I was in one (I had 30 — count them — 30 lines!). Meyerholz Elementary School's yearly musical is just so darn cute. And, of course, my own rendition of the Gypsy classic "Rose's Turn," in a small, intimate venue known as "the kitchen," burns, I mean, brings down the house.

But sometimes I'm lured to San Francisco.  I saw Lily Tomlin search for intelligent life.  I saw Les Misérables, and I don't mean the commuters on 101. And yes, jealous ones, I saw Wicked there, with my close, personal, in-my-dreams friends, Kristin and Idina, before it went to Broadway.

Nevertheless, Broadway fan that I am, it still takes a lot to get me to travel 50 miles and cough up a Benjamin Franklin (plus an Andrew Jackson for ticketing fees and another for parking).

So when my girlfriend emailed to ask if I'd be interested in seeing Hugh Jackman sing show tunes during his two-week run in May at the Curran Theatre, I carefully considered it. Was it worth it? Did I have the time? Should I see if my husband wants to go, too?

Are you crazy? I didn't think any of those things. I immediately wrote back, "Spare no expense. My schedule is clear for this." 

And so last Thursday, my girlfriend and I, and 1,665 other devoted Hugh fans, filled the Curran. I smiled and smiled the whole time.

For those of you who know Hugh Jackman only as Wolverine, you need to know that boy can sing. He's done lots of musical work, starring in Oklahoma and Carousel, and most notably winning a Tony for his role as the flamboyantly gay Peter Allen in The Boys from Oz. So when he walked on stage singing a rich, "Oh, what a beautiful mornin'," the crowd, comprised mostly of middle-aged suburban women and gay San Franciscan men, greeted him with exuberant cheers, applause  and some good-natured screaming and hooting.

In fact, sometimes the screams and hoots reminded me of the Bobby Sherman concert I attended in 7th grade, except at this performance, the female audience members weren't wearing size 1 jeans, men were in the audience, too, and Hugh not only is by far the better singer, he didn't wear black leather pants. But he did play to his audience with a wink and a nod, exuding all the charm we've seen when he has hosted the Tony Awards and the Academy Awards.

My only is complaint is why he let those other 1,666 people into the theater? I know he really just wanted to sing to me. Hugh, that was me, in Row P, Seat 107 — just in case you were wondering. If you're looking for me now, I'm back in Sunnyvale, reprising my role as Mama Rose in the kitchen.