The Hills of California is a superb play. It is three hours long, and we found it riveting, with no filler. Jez Butterworth (Jerusalem) and Sam Mendes (The Ferryman) return to Broadway as just about the best writer/director tag-team currently on the scene.
The story takes place in postwar England in a shabby seaside resort hotel in Blackpool, Lancashire. Off-stage hotel owner and widow Veronica Webb is dying, and her extended family arrives one by one to pay their last respects (and also usher her into the ranks of the Choir Invisible with a willing doctor).
In flashbacks, we see scenes of the vibrant, sexy mother who daily drills her four talented and charming young daughters into a Midlands version of the Andrew Sisters (and they really do sparkle! You can actually believe the Webb Sisters could have been massive given a break from the showbiz Gods; they are that good).
The character of Veronica, played by phenomenal Northern Irish actress Laura Donelly, is not far afield from Rosalind Russell's "Rose," the show-biz mother from hell in Gypsy.
A cautionary tale of sisterly rivalry and music biz dreams deferred if not dashed (the greasy American impresario who finally comes to audition them coldly picks one daughter out of the four as the only possible "star" in the act and takes her upstairs to "audition" her), and the residual bitterness and jealousy that poisons the ranks of this formerly close-knit family who drift apart after the child-act is broken up, the cumulative effect is affecting and heartbreaking (but with lots of comic turns and laughs abounding).
At the close the audience leaped to their feet and gave the large ensemble cast (many of whom were imported from the show's hit production in the West End) a prolonged standing ovation and much cheering. Truth be told, both Caroline Sinclair and I had tears in our eyes at the end. The play is that powerful.
For some reason, there has not been ONE review in the local media of NYC since the play opened here last month, which is mind-blowing and speaks volumes about the "official" cultural mandarins and critical apparatchiks afoot in our fair city.
Now playing at the Broadhurst Theater 235 West 44th Street, NYC, and extended through December.