Charles Busch is a cherished New York
actor and playwright specializing in playing Hollywood leading ladies. In The Tribute Artist, directed by Carl
Andress, a longtime collaborator, he plays a drag artist who can no longer find
work in a Las Vegas that would rather see a drag Beyoncé than a Marilyn. In
retirement, though coiffed and in a gown, he visits with reclusive widow
Adriana (Cynthia Harris). Busch does his signature late sweeping entrance,
looking impossibly glam. They relive old times and old loves with Rita, a
lesbian real estate shark played full-throttle by clotheshorse and Busch star
Julie Halston.
The modern art-filled, bookish parlor of
Adriana’s elegant house in the West Village has wedding-cake walls and ceiling,
as Rita points out. It’s every New Yorker’s fantasy to own such digs. They
drink too much and sleep over. When they wake up, they find Adriana has sadly
expired in her sleep. Estranged from family, she left no will. Well, the
tribute artist can impersonate the widow! The real estate agent can sell the
house for millions! But wait—the widow’s beautician niece (Mary Bacon) arrives
from Wisconsin with her transgender son. Fortunately, they haven’t seen the
aunt since childhood. The tribute artist looks just enough like the old
moneybags to convince them.
Thanks to a Facebook connection, the
widow’s much younger boyfriend of yore appears. He also has not seen the widow
for years and buys the hoax for a while. Jonathan Walker is full of surprises.
Keira Keeley as the transgender Oliver is adorable and smart, and just wait
until you see her in a tuxedo. It’s all good—as long as nobody looks in the
fur vault in the cellar.
Charles Busch has always been
outrageously ahead of his time. The
Tribute Artist suggests the world may be trying to catch up. Crisp, original
music by Lewis Flinn enhances the fun.
Not far from the midtown 59E59 theater is Le Relais de Venise L'Entrecôte, a French brasserie with branches in London and Paris. There is no menu—the steak frites is all there is. Le Relais label vin rouge is only $25 a bottle, and the prix-fixe dinner costs only a couple of dollars more. No reservations, so go there at an off hour.
You start with a beautiful green salad with walnuts in a sharp, mustardy vinaigrette. The entrecote, lean sirloin, is best rare or bleu (bloody) and is served sliced, in a pale, tarragon-inflected sauce that has a secret recipe. Half of the tender meat is kept hot on a chafing dish while you eat.
You'll think you are in Paris. The
all-female staff is dazzlingly efficient. You're in good hands! With
the second half of your perfect steak comes another portion of heavenly crisp, hot, skinny frites such as you've only enjoyed in Europe (or French Canada). The house steak sauce will make you never want
catsup with your fries again, which is a good thing, because you can’t get catsup here even if you
asked for it—or mayonnaise, or butter for your baguette. Although there isn’t a main-course menu, the dessert menu has a huge selection, including a cheese platter with nuts that works as a main course. (That and the walnut salad is a tip-top selection for vegetarians.) The most ordered desserts are the profiteroles in Belgian chocolate and the 8" meringue tower.
