Review: Kings and Noblemen at the Black Box Theater.

Though some may scoff, it is often possible to find some real gems among the off-off Broadway theatres. Let's not forget that this is where the Tony award winning 'Brothers Nemesis' started, and 'Egyptian Robots' which, though not to everyone's tastes, has still gone on to have a decent West End run in England. Big name stars often start their career here, which is why I like to take a look every now and then, and see if I can spot any raw talent.

'Kings and Noblemen' was an intriguing prospect to me; the entire cast is made up of new drama school graduates with not a credit to their name. While a slight concern, I was also interested to see whether being so fresh out of school would result in a slick, strong performance as each actor strives to be noticed by casting agents.

It didn't.

The plot is bizarre; King John, ruler of England in some period of history that is never actually determined, is intent on finding a wife. So are all of his noblemen and, it would seem that the entire play focuses on each of the noble court members one by one stealing King John's lovers away from him until the King finally notices the servant girl who's been eyeing him the entire time, and realizes she's the girl of his dreams. That's it, that's the show. I wish I was joking, or I could say there was more to it, but there is not. It really is as linear and monotonous as that.

The songs are enjoyable enough in their melodies but since we are so bored by the plot after the first few minutes, it's hard to even recall if the lyrics were decent. This being the Black Box, the set is minimal, which is just as well since given the poor quality of costumes, it is evident this production is on a shoestring budget.

The actors seem to alternate between being obnoxiously overbearing and cheerful, or entirely unsure of what they're supposed to be doing. The direction is weak, pointless, and seemingly non-existent between some of those on stage, in particular Kurt Hummel.

I was astounded to learn from the playbill that Mr. Hummel has recently graduated from Pace, because it's surely some kind of miracle that he ever got cast in this. One can almost see the green arrogance in his face as he dances across the stage with a wide grin on his face, clearly assuming his dimples and blue eyes will carry him through. I finally reached my limit when he had to be fed his line from another actor on stage.

Far from Kings and Noblemen (and cast) being the undiscovered gem I had hoped, I found myself wishing it would come to an end as soon as possible. I wish that the writer and director, Marcia Curtis, would credit her audience with a little more intelligence and next time, aim for a script that holds a little more depth. The sooner she, and the cast (especially Hummel) wake up to the real world, the better. Love does not make the world go round, and audiences are tired of seeing the same old tale of true love with a happily ever after that really doesn't exist for anyone in real life.

Blaine Anderson.

"Unfuckingbelievable!" Kurt Hummel throws the newspaper down on the kitchen table, making his roommates, Anna and Meredith, look up from their breakfast in surprise. "Read it!" he snaps, heading over to get coffee. "Just read it!"

Picking up the paper fearfully, Anna reads it before handing it over to Meredith, who shakes her head. "I got nothing," she says when Kurt sits opposite.

"It's one bad review," Anna says a little more diplomatically. "Just ignore it. Focus on the good ones."

"But it's my first review," Kurt moans, holding his head in his hands. "And I wanted it to be good. I wanted them to like me. There aren't any others. Not yet, anyway. I guess some more might come out online later today."

"Most likely," Anna says kindly. "And this guy... Blaine Anderson... He's just some dumb hack, Kurt, that's all."

Kurt lifts his head, staring at her. "He's the theatre critic for the New York News. He's not just some hack. He's the first person of note who's ever written a review of one of my shows, and he hates me."

"To be fair, he doesn't just hate you," Meredith says. "He hates the entire production."

"But he named me! He didn't name anyone else in the cast! Out of everyone, he named me, and said that I should never have been cast."

"He said it's a miracle how you ever got cast," Meredith corrects.

"Same fucking difference," Kurt snaps. He stands, snatching the newspaper from her hands. "I'm going back to bed."

Kurt is right; there are more reviews and though they're not exactly positive, at least none of the others criticize his performance specifically, rather the show in its entirety. He can't get the New York News review out of his head though, despite Anna repeatedly telling him that it mustn't get him down.

All he's ever wanted, his whole life through, is to perform. He had been striving for his dream since his dad first enrolled him in dance classes, aged eight. He'd pleaded and begged, and he knew it took a lot of courage for his dad to march into the only dance school in their tiny Wisconsin hometown, and announce that he'd like his son to join. He'd been determined not to let his dad down from that moment on, and he hadn't.

Kurt had worked hard at school, and right from graduating he moved to New York, to take up a scholarship at Pace. He'd perfected his craft, studying acting and musical theatre while working as many hours as possible in a small coffee shop, in order to help keep costs down for his dad.

After graduation, Kurt had dreamed of finding the perfect role on Broadway, getting his own apartment, maybe even being able to afford to take a cab sometimes instead of the subway, but those dreams were still distant, at best.

Money was tight, and he stayed rooming with his college roommates Anna and Meredith, who were his best friends even though they could be incredibly argumentative and temperamental, and while looking for acting work he also worked as many hours as possible in a coffee shop two blocks off Broadway.

Then the audition for Kings and Noblemen had come up. A new dramatic musical, he decided he had nothing to lose. To his surprise, he'd got it. Okay, the pay was barely legal, and it was off-off Broadway in a tiny box theatre, but as his dad said; "Everyone's gotta start somewhere."

Kurt was overjoyed, and though his instinct told him the show perhaps wasn't all that great, he felt like he had at least turned in an accomplished performance, and he was sure that would be picked up on in the reviews. It wasn't, though, and worse than being ignored was the pointed criticism from Blaine Anderson.

Still frustrated and angry three days later, Kurt looks up Blaine Anderson online. Far from being a dumb hack, as Anna had said, Kurt discovers he has a detailed history as a theatre and arts critic for the New York Stage Review, The London Post, in Britain, and also for a Parisian art journal, before a short spell in Los Angeles and now here, in New York City.

"Fuck you," Kurt mutters angrily at his screen. "Track record means nothing. Even the best of us get it wrong, sometimes."

But Blaine Anderson is not wrong. Kings and Noblemen closes after just eleven performances, and Kurt Hummel is unemployed.

It's three months before he finds another role. This time, it's in the chorus in a 1920's musical, in which Meredith has the lead. He hates that it was her who landed him the part, but he's flat broke and with Christmas just a month away, he knows he needs to take whatever work he can get.

The show is an altogether more enjoyable experience. He makes a lot of new friends in the chorus, and he enjoys rehearsals. His dad comments on how happy and upbeat he sounds when he calls, and he quickly agrees.

"I know it's only chorus," he tells him "But the show is already gaining more attention than Kings and Noblemen did, and I only need one casting director to be in that audience, to spot me..."

"Absolutely! And even if they don't this time, having a show like this on your resume has gotta be good, right?"

"It has," Kurt agrees. "And I'm going to make the best of it."

Opening night arrives and despite not having any solo lines, Kurt's nerves are at their peak. He stares at himself in his dressing room mirror, which he shares with three others. His bright blue eyes shine, adrenaline already coursing through him as he listens to the faint strains of the orchestra tuning up. He checks his chestnut hair in the mirror, even though it's got so much hairspray on that it will never move and then, finally, he takes a mouthful of water and steps out into the corridor for some air.

"Hey baby cheeks."

"Don't call me that." He turns to see Meredith coming toward him, poured into an enormous dress with a fierce looking corseted bodice. "Good God. A Latina Southern Belle with a viper's tongue."

"Hey, I was going to be nice," she says, her dark eyes flashing in anger. "Break a leg and all that. Are you feeling okay?"

"I guess," Kurt says lightly.

"You sure? This theatre is a lot bigger than your previous one."

"I'll survive. You break a leg too," he says begrudgingly.

"Thank you." She saunters past on her way to the wings, and blows a kiss over her shoulder. "By the way, apparently Blaine Anderson is in the audience."

Kurt is woken the next morning by an ungodly scream and he bolts from bed, storming out into the living room of his tiny apartment. "Meredith!" he yells. "I swear to God..."

"You stole my review!" she shrieks, and Kurt blinks for a moment, taking in the sight of her bundled up in her coat, hat and scarf. "I dragged my ass out of bed to get the first editions and you stole my fucking review!"

"What are you talking about?" Anna asks, and Meredith's only response is to throw the newspaper at her. She picks it up and scans it, clapping a hand over her mouth halfway through.

"What?" Kurt asks, his blood running cold. "What is it?"

"It's uh... You know what? It's nothing," Anna says. She laughs nervously as she backs him toward the bedroom. "You want coffee? I'll make some."

"Show me that newspaper," he says, his voice low. "It's him, isn't it?"

"Yes it's him!" Meredith shrieks. "And I don't know what his beef is with you, but you've seriously pissed him off."

"What? I've never met the guy!"

"I didn't say you had, but clearly your terrible acting riles him enough that he feels the need to waste a review passing comment on a member of the chorus instead of me, the actual lead!"

Kurt reaches out, grabbing the newspaper from Anna's hand. He sits on their old, worn couch, his eyes going wide as he reads. "Chorus member Kurt Hummel proves to be a complete distraction while on stage, and not in a good way. He is a constant half beat behind his counterparts, and at times it looked as though he was in a different show altogether. Mr Hummel is still green in his career and it shows; the sooner he realizes that cute dimples and baby blues don't hide his lack of talent, the better.'"

There is a resounding silence in the apartment, while Kurt stares again at the words on the page. Anna quietly moves to sit next to him, and even Meredith rests a hand on his shoulder.

"How can someone hate me so much?" he asks in a whisper. "What have I done? Am I really that horrible an actor?"

"No."

Kurt and Anna look up in surprise at Meredith, who firmly shakes her head. "You're not," she adds. "You won a scholarship to Pace, for goodness sake. This dick seems to have some issue with you, but that's his problem, not yours."

"I agree," Anna chimes in. "I'll bet this review will be just like last time; none of the others will mention you by name, and he'll be the one who ends up looking stupid because it's obvious he has some axe to grind."

She is right, of course. Reviews are fair, and Meredith comes in for some particular praise, but no one else thinks to mention any of the chorus, or even the supporting roles, by name. However, the cast read all the reviews, as always, and though Kurt thinks their teasing is only meant as a bit of fun, it still stings, and leaves him hurting for days.

The show ends its run right before Christmas, and Kurt boards a flight on Christmas Eve which takes him back to Wisconsin, and back to the loving arms of his dad. He tells his dad everything, surprised to realize as he speaks that his anger and despair is still very much present.

"It's so frustrating!" he cries, and his dad frowns, sliding another beer across the kitchen counter to him.

"Why? You ever met the guy?"

"No. I've never even seen him. Wouldn't know him if I walked past him on the street."

"So you don't know what he's like, so what does his opinion matter? He's a stranger, right? It's not like you know he's really knowledgeable or whatever."

"He's got a long history as a distinguished theatre critic."

"Really? Then why's he reviewing small shows off-off Broadway?"

"I don't know," Kurt admits. "I took a look at other stuff he's written though, and he does all the top shows too. I guess doing the smaller, more quirky shows gives him an edge? I don't know."

"Guy sounds like a total jerk," Burt Hummel grumbles. He reaches out, ruffling his son's hair. "Don't let the bastards grind you down, kid."

Kurt tries to heed his dad's advice, but Blaine Anderson's words seem to resound in his mind as he returns to New York and once again begins attending any and every audition that he can. He fails to land a single part, and eventually he returns to the coffee shop, desperately hoping they need a barista.

"Actually, we do," Karl, the manager tells him. "Right now, if you're free?"

"I can... Yeah, okay," he says with a laugh. "Sure. Thanks for having me back."

"Welcome. Really, you've saved my skin today."

Kurt falls back into the old routine quickly, and it's a good thing too, since the coffee shop is suddenly swarmed when heavy rain starts to fall. He keeps up with all the orders though, working the register and calling out names simultaneously. Handing over three coffees to a woman, he gives a massive sigh of relief to see that's the end of the line, only then the door opens and a man enters, shaking the rain from his hair.

"Coffee," he barks. "Medium drip."

Kurt stares, and the man stares back. He's devastatingly handsome, with a shadow of dark stubble and deep brown eyes. His hair is wavy, with hints of silver at his temples and flecked through his black curls, and Kurt can instantly tell he's incredibly wealthy. It's not just apparent from his clothes; a sharp gray suit and dark overcoat, but from the way he carries himself too.

"Coffee," he says again, frowning in annoyance. "Sometime today."

"Okay, okay." Kurt comes to life, embarrassed at having been caught checking him out. "Is it raining?" he asks, unable to resist. But the customer doesn't find his little joke funny. Instead, he glares, and then rolls his eyes when Kurt laughs to himself.

"Hilarious."

"I thought so."

The man grabs his coffee and throws the money on the counter, before taking a seat in the window. He unfolds a newspaper, blocking everything else out, and Kurt carries on with his work, clearing the mass of dirty tables now that the line has gone.

In the middle of wiping one table down, he stops and looks up sharply. Realizing he's not imagining things, his eyes widen in surprise to see the man- his face still hidden behind the newspaper- snapping his fingers at him.

"Sugar," he barks, and Kurt wipes down the table he's cleaning before picking up the tray.

"Get it yourself. I don't respond to finger snaps."

The newspaper is lowered, and the man raises one eyebrow. "Rather rude for a barista, aren't you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Yes of course, I'm just a barista. Not a person, with feelings. Silly me." Kurt grabs some packets of splenda, just to piss him off, and throws them on the table. He heads out back for a moment, just to calm his breathing, but then he returns to clearing the tables again, determined not to let this arrogant man win.

Kurt knows he's watching him as he works, and he bites his lip hard, keeping his head held high. He might not be as sophisticated, or rich, but at least he knows he's also not as rude, or angry.

"You look familiar," the man says as he passes. "Are you..."

"Trust me, I'd know if we'd met," Kurt snaps before heading over to the furthest corner of the shop to clear the tables there, instead.

To his surprise, the man follows him, standing awkwardly waiting for Kurt to look up which, after wiping the same table down four times, he has to do. "What?"

"I uh... I shouldn't have snapped my fingers at you," he says, looking at the floor. "I've had a bad day and I took it out on you. I apologize."

"Yeah? Well I've had a bad life, mister, so think before you speak next time. Other people might be fighting battles that you know nothing about."

"And so might I," the man says, and gives a smile; but it's a sad smile, and it makes Kurt check his temper just for a moment.

"Apology accepted," he mumbles, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

"Thank you."

He leaves, and Kurt is left wondering how he can feel so guilty when it was the man who was rude to him, initially, and not the other way around. His guilt turns to anger, though, when he clears his table, and finds a fifty dollar bill set on the edge of his saucer. It's an incredibly generous tip for one cup of coffee, and it should make Kurt overjoyed, but it doesn't. He almost feels like the arrogant customer is watching him, laughing at his desperation as he quickly folds the bill and places it in the pocket of his apron.

"Broadway better start calling my name soon, I swear."