Review of the Louis Armstrong musical

Come hear the music of “A Wonderful World: The Louis Armstrong Musical,” Satchmo’s show that opened Monday night at Studio 54.

As for the life story of the guttural singer, you better read a book. What’s on Broadway is largely a deflated, improvised film. wife story that fails to capture Armstrong, the artist.

The message “Hello, Dolly!” The singer, who died in 1971, was married four times and was an unfaithful idiot to that quartet of women.

His turbulent relationships with them as his fame skyrockets—from second trumpet in King Joe Oliver’s (Gavin Gregory) jazz band to Hollywood icon—mark “A Wonderful World.”

That’s personally complicated, yes, but it’s a theatrically complicated decision by writer Aurin Squire to center a musical filled with many, many (did I say many?) upbeat tunes around marital disputes and infidelity.

The show’s best numbers actually belong to the actresses who play the wives, each of whom is fabulous.

Think of it as “Nine” or “Six,” but “Four.”

Armstrong’s ladies are Daisy Parker (Dionne Figgins), a “switchblade hooker”; practical pianist and conductor Lil Hardin (Jennie Harney-Fleming); fan Alpha Smith (Kim Exum); and Cotton Club singer Lucille Wilson (Darlesia Cearcy), who eventually holds him responsible for her zipper.

Their personalities are as distinctive as their impressive voices. The first act ends surprisingly as scorned exes Daisy and Lil duet on “Some of These Days”/“After You’ve Gone,” the show’s most exciting aural moment.

Cearcy has another standout in the second half with the poignant “That’s My Home.”

The problem is that Satchmo is not only the second trumpet, but he is reduced to being a second fiddle. On your own show!

We’re left with the impression that the creators didn’t find Armstrong, played vacuously by James Monroe Iglehart, to be a particularly interesting guy. So, they made their loved ones more important.

Still, the musical spans 60 years of events, from its beginnings in New Orleans in the 1910s to a Prohibition-era period in Chicago, to film stardom in 1930s California, and finally , in New York City.

While Adam Koch and Steven Royal’s set, with a balcony on Bourbon Street, constantly evokes Louisiana, the fiery dance and movement of Rickey Tripp’s fantastically malleable ensemble helps move the action across the country.

Besides love and lust, what drives Armstrong to travel is the ever-present ugliness of racism. A member of his gang, Banjo Ben (Renell Taylor, an excellent dancer), is mistakenly called a thief and murdered in New Orleans early on. That traumatic memory haunts him forever.

And, even when he is an in-demand actor on movie sets, directors throw out insensitive comments while aggressively pressuring him to smile big.

“That’s what you do!” one says disdainfully.

But these scenes that go beyond a clumsy biographical exposition do not last long. Just as we begin to explore the depths of man, another song begins. Some, like “Black and Blue,” add meaning and texture; others fill time in a show that is already dragging on.

Although each melody sounds sublime, the applause fades as the performance progresses. There is often a collective feeling of, “That should have been cut.”

Iglehart does well with Armstrong’s signature deep voice. However, it doesn’t add up to his recognizable traits to make him a believable person. The actor, who played the Genie in “Aladdin,” uses comedy one-liners and crowd mugging to get a response. While Iglehart goes for laughs, he doesn’t capture our hearts.

Armstrong argues to his manager and his wife that he is more than the happy act he presents to the public. The show and its protagonist suggest exactly the opposite.

That the musical doesn’t work is no surprise. The Playbill tells the tragic story of too many cooks. The musical is directed by Christopher Renshaw and co-directed by Iglehart and Christina Sajous. Practically a Roman triumvirate. That many voices come out of the scene without a discernible style or point of view, and it makes difficult decisions even more difficult.

And I think to myself… that’s too many directors.