The Kid from Brooklyn

OH, KAYE Leone and Childers step back in time.

Photo: Ed Kreiger

Danny Kaye is a somewhat-lost American treasure, a triple threat who rode the star system from the Catskills to big-screen fame, now mostly remembered for his born-to-play-it turn in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and being the other guy in White Christmas. But he represents a fascinating link to Buster Keaton, Kurt Weill and the Marx Brothers before him, and to Jerry Lewis, Gene Wilder and Monty Python after. Joining manic wordplay (sung and spoken) to some of the greatest physical comedy ever to grace the stage, Kaye was arguably among the last great descendants of vaudeville, distinguished by a sweetness and delicacy that somehow prevented his shtick’s sugar-high intensity from giving you a headache. Though a tall order, reproducing this shtick’s form, as The Kid does meticulously, isn’t impossible—but doing the same for Kaye’s unique charisma proves more elusive.

Brian Childers is technically dazzling, and even looks the part, but there’s something a little cold about his impersonation, echoed in the bellicose edge he imparts to Kaye’s more calisthenic performances. All the singers press a little hard, maybe because they’re working against a faintly soulless script, dominated by an accurate but stock manager-wife, actress-mistress love triangle—with a nod to rumored fourth-wheel Laurence Olivier—and the standard résumé-credit whistlestop tour. There’s nothing lacking in the way of skills or polish, but somewhere amid the song-and-dance muscularity of script and cast, Kaye’s winningness gets lost.