Stage : ‘Hey Ma’: Nightclub Act in Disguise

Kaye Ballard is “working Hollywood Boulevard at last.” Too bad it’s at the Henry Fonda Theatre and not, say, the Cinegrill down the boulevard.

Her show, discreetly titled “Hey Ma--Working Hollywood Blvd. at Last!,” is a nightclub act moved to a large theater, where tickets go for as much as $40.

The show has a tiny wisp of a theme, which might be an attempt to justify the theatrical venue. The first two words of the title are the cue: Ballard makes it clear that her mother tried to discourage her show-biz career on the grounds that she wasn’t pretty enough. The first act ends on a note of wistful defiance of her mother’s assessment of her talents.

We also hear some chagrin in Ballard’s voice as she recalls that her mother didn’t even tell her when her beloved “Nana” died. But the mother matter is quickly resolved in the second act, when Ballard recalls a phone conversation during which her mother finally expressed some pride in Ballard’s accomplishments. Case closed. The mother material takes up about 10 minutes, tops. The rest of the show flits from joke to ballad to novelty number to impression and back again--and most of it is instantly forgettable. Within the context of a club--where the audience might also be dining, drinking, dancing or gambling, and where Ballard might be closer--it might pass muster. At the Fonda, it doesn’t.

Ballard is likable enough. Though much of her material focuses on how thrilling it is to be some kind of a star, she actually seems to take it in stride, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. With her square, solid features and her glittery caftan-like outfits (costumes by Bill Belew), she seems indefatigable, despite her moans over the aging process and the state of the contemporary world.

This apparent self-confidence is her strongest quality. Her closely miked singing voice, OK in the belting range, often peters out when it begins to ascend. Her impressions score a few quick hits but are over almost as soon as they begin. Her patter is lame; she gets one of her biggest laughs from, yes, a Polish joke.

She mentions that she used to play tuba with Spike Jones--which sounds fairly funny. But the only instrument she plays here is a flute, in a meek little solo that has no discernible point. She talks of some of her favorite show-biz stars, and we see slides of their visages on a screen at the back of the stage; it has the unintended effect of pointing out that Ballard herself hasn’t quite entered the pantheon of many of her idols.

In the lobby during the intermission, we can watch videos of a couple of Ballard’s numbers from the show. The video versions are fully staged, with other actors and cuts to various locales. They are more imaginative and amusing than the renditions we’ve just witnessed in the live show, and they raise the question of whether the whole production is a TV pilot in disguise. Does Ballard hope to revive the TV variety series? Or is this show simply one great big audition for the TV talk show circuit?

When she does an extremely low-impact soft-shoe routine, it’s the sort of gag that might seem perfect for the inspired silliness of the old Steve Allen show. In fact, Allen wrote one of the novelty numbers Ballard sings, “Carne Asada.” On the same level, she performs Barry Kleinbort’s “(I Won’t Sing a) Sondheim Song,” which constantly threatens to break into a Sondheim song, and Dale Gonyea’s “Name Dropping.” Clever, featherweight material that doesn’t add up to much.

Michael Orland directs an 11-piece onstage band, which limits the amount of room that Ballard has. The band sounds fine, but they’re in the spotlight for only one number, “The Very Thought of You.”

Sue Lawless directed. Besides Ballard and Kleinbort, Leslie Eberhard and David Levy are credited as principal writers, with additional dialogue by Frankie Ray.