Vanessa Hudgens as Gigi                            photos by Margot Schulman

                                         by Eugene Paul

On Broadway, it’s April, and Paris is in the air, Paris in the 1900’s – that’s Gigi – and Paris forty-some years later, in 1945, that’s An American in Paris,  both musicals reborn versions of silver screen parentage, one of them sublime, the other a lot less.  Let’s take the not so good news first.  If Gigi manages to do anything right, it’s no thanks to what appears to be its direction.  It boasts a superb Art Nouveau staircase, thanks to designer Derek Mc Lane, a sturdy, dependable performance by Victoria Clark as a starchier than you remembered Mamita, retired courtesan grandmother to Gigi,

Corey Cott as Gaston

an astonishingly good performance by Corey Cott as Gaston La Chaille, a very rich duty bound to be a Man About Town who sees little Gigi grow up before his uncomprehending eyes and falls in love with her and – that’s all, although the songs, the songs are still wonderful.

Victoria Clark and Vanessa Hudgens

Colette’s much cherished tale of a family of French courtesans was sparklingly transformed into a bewitching movie musical by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe and has been enshrined ever since.  Young Gigi is being resolutely raised as a young lady by her grandmother, Mamita, a modestly retired ex-mistress of a few – or several –men of means with more stringent lessons for Gigi in financial security dispensed by her wealthy great aunt Alicia, hard as nails, still beautiful, an expert who has feathered her nest. Gaston, very rich, hangs out at Mamita’s just to get away from the chores of being a Man About Town.  He can relax there.  He and Gigi are innocent – relatively --teasing friends. But, inevitably, Gigi grows up.  And he notices.  And wants her. Where other people go to priests, Gigi’s family of never-marrieds goes to lawyers.  A contract is drawn up.  But Gigi and Gaston are in love.  And love triumphs. That’s musicals for ya.

Does this mean that all is well?  No, although the show starts marvelously, the entire company frozen in sumptuous silhouette, dressed to muted perfection by designer Catherine Zuber, beautifully posed by director Eric Schaeffer against scenic designer Derek Mclane’s magnificent staircases, a Tiffany canopy of trees overarching.

But then Honore La Chaille (Howard McGillin) Gaston’s uncle and the oldest roue in the bois comes on as master of revels and everything goes to pot. Because he is impossibly, overreachingly pure jambon.  That’s French for ham, as you know, but what he’s doing isn’t even French jambon it’s – it’s showbiz jambon troweled on. With great jambonish good humor and precision.  You can hope for a while but, no, choreographer Joshua Bergasse’s   dancers are way too arch and their archery has missed its aim.  Gaston’s first song – performed splendidly forthright by Corey Cott lays it all out:” It’s A Bore”.

Not Gaston, he’s a peach.  But he’s right.  Lerner and Loewe had it presaged.  So by the time that we meet Gigi as strivingly portrayed by Vanessa Hudgens, we are not surprised that we are not surprised.  She is doing everything she’s been told to do except – be Gigi.  There is no Gigi there, no charm, no esprit, no source of ineffable delight. Why would Gaston want her?  It lowers him, it lowers the whole show.  The whole charm of the show is that we must see an elegant delight in this family of courtesans and feel a frisson or two out of the forbidden paradox.  Instead we see labor. Yes, it’s nice that “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” is given to the ladies—ahem – to sing, because if this Honore LaChaille had sung it the song would have been downright dirty, and Aunt Alicia (Dee Hoty) looks divine even if she’s de trop, but Gaston and Mamita cannot carry us alone.  Gigi needs an April in Paris touch.  It’s still winter.

Gigi at the Neil Simon Theatre, 250 West 52^nd Street.  Tickets: $65-$160. Rush $35. 877-250-2929. 2hrs 40 min.