When some weeks ago I caught a small musical called Stars in Your Eyes, I disdained reviewing it, thinking it would die instantly. By who knows what maneuvers, it is only just leaving, and I must voice my contempt. Its book, music, and lyrics are by one Chip Meyrelles, whom I imagine growing up lonely, playing recordings of musical comedy late into the night. Perfectly okay, had he not written one himself and gotten it on Off Broadway.
By way of book, imagine a battle for an observatory threatened to be torn down (when, since Galileo, did astronomy have its ass in a sling?) and the Man in the Moon, in a white suit, coming off his perch on a piano to straighten out the tangled lives of several thoroughly uninteresting characters. For the rest, think of every lyrical and musical cliché you can and multiply by three. That such talented performers as Crista Moore, Barbara Walsh, and Heather Mac Rae should be enmeshed in this nullity wrings my heart.