NINE2FIVE: A Review Written from 8:34 to 10:13

I found myself in a unique position after seeing 9 to 5, Dolly Parton's inevitable musical transformation of the 1980 film that marked her big-screen acting debut. The new music and lyrics, penned by Parton herself (who 30 years ago also write the show's famous and fabulous title song) indicate that perhaps Ms. Dolly poured herself too large a cup of ambition in taking on the role of Broadway baby. The songs, while not bad, are mostly unremarkable and unmemorable. But between the predictable girl-power anthems and ballads (including an unapologetic country tune already plucked and planted as the name of Parton's latest album), 9 to 5 is a very funny show anchored by the comedic talents of Allison Janney, adopting the role of Violet originated in the movie by Lily Tomlin. Megan Hilty shines as Doralee, gamely serving as Parton's doppelganger stand-in, and Stephanie J. Block is likewise charming as the naive Judy Bernly, whose transformation from mousy rejected housewife to emboldened boss torturer becomes the show's most prominent symbol of the women's movement. The comic chemistry between the leading ladies shines through as their three very different characters unite around a common cause: exacting revenge on "the man" and taking charge of their own destinies. And mediocre or not, I dare you not to cheer the gals on during the empowering ACT I finale, "Shine Like a Sun." (Click here to download a copy.)

But as important as the issue of women's rights in the workplace was in 1980, when the film and its theme song became a rallying cry for the cause, I'd have liked to have seen more a shift towards the disenchantment of all American workers in this age of corporate greed and dwindling 401Ks. After all, you shouldn't need a vagina to enjoy watching the evil Mr. Hart, the ladies' masochistic, chauvinistic boss, get his comeuppance. (Hart is played with ample sleaze by Marc Kudisch, who spends most of the show tied up, beaten up, hanging from a harness, and otherwise abused). Outside of a weak, wink-to-the-audience joke about how bosses don't steal from their businesses, the show misses a prime opportunity to lend a voice (or at least a kick ass musical diatribe)to an audience thirsty for blood.

Still, the show had enough charm and pluck (not to mention the namesake song dressed up as a gloriously cheesy opening number) to be worth the $36 price tag on my obstructed-view rush ticket. (Wait, since when do Broadway tickets have price tags? The price is written right on the ticket. It would be redundant.)