Lil Wayne, not a healthy human being. (Getty Images)

Lil Wayne (Dwayne Michael Carter Jr.), the hip-hop artist whose album I Am Not a Human Being II dropped on Tuesday, has had a pretty terrible month. Two (or possibly three) seizures in row left him in critical condition in the ICU at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in a medically-induced coma on March 13. He was released five days later, but the episode left many wondering if Mr. Carter would actually be able to go on tour for his new album.

But according to Mr. Carter, this isn't the first time he's suffered an epileptic seizure. And it has nothing to do with drugs. So he says.

Yesterday Mr. Carter told L.A.'s Power 106 that this was pretty much business as usual. "Like, this isn’t my first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh seizure. I’ve had a bunch of seizures, y’all just never hear about them."

So ... no big deal? Lil Wayne doesn't seem to think so:

So, tour is still on? So maybe not that big of a deal. But as he told the radio station, it is kind of of a big deal:

"But this time it got real bad ’cause I had three of them in a row, and on the third one, my heart rate went down to like 30 percent. Basically, I could’ve died, so that is why it was so serious."

Remember, this all occurred during Mr. Carter's (alleged) enforced sobriety.

Conclusion? Jesus, Lil Wayne. Take care of yourself, Weezy! Especially now that you're more popular than ever, thanks to your hospital visit.

Mr. Sulzberger’s insistence on independence was shown in his decision in 1971 to publish a secret government history of the Vietnam War known as the Pentagon Papers. It was a defining moment for him and, in the view of many journalists and historians, his finest.

The publication of the Pentagon Papers led to a major Supreme Court ruling in favor of press freedom and in 1972 netted the Times a Pulitzer Prize.

Though Mr. Sulzberger passed publishing duties at the Times to his son Arthur Jr. in 1992, he stayed on as chairman for five more years, officially retiring in 1997. The Times reports he died after a lengthy illness.

Mr. Sulzberger was 86.

Only Sherri and Barbara escaped unscathed!

Apparently drama works in daytime. E-Poll Market Research has released a study (unscientific, it would seem) of the most politically divisive celebrities--those preferred disproportionately by either Republicans or Democrats. Elisabeth Hasselbeck, the conservative voice on The View, is the most disproportionately loved by GOP members--with a difference of 51 percent in her approval by right- and left-wingers. Other celebrities appealing more to Republicans, in order: Hank Williams Jr., Tim Tebow, Ted Nugent, and Amy Grant. Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg, her couch counterparts in the kaffeeklatsch, are the third and fifth most disproportionately Democrat-beloved among celebrities, respectively. They are only less divisive than Spike Lee, Mo'Nique and, in fourth place, Forest Whitaker. (While Mr. Whitaker may seem anodyne, here's a fun fact: 7 of the 10 celebrities found to be most disproportionately appealing to Democrats are nonwhite, including who-knew-people-cared picks like Malcolm Jamal Warner!)

Jake Stevens' wife was killed by a drunk driver who got off. (Matt Chaban)

Each year, there are upwards of 3,500 serious injuries resulting from traffic accidents. The NYPD has ten times as many officers, yet it only assigns 19 of them to look into such incidents and investigates less than 1 in 10 as a result. Even then, investigations take place only when those involved are dead or believed to be dying. Sometimes they die without an investigation because on the scene, officers believe the injured will make it.

Members of the City Council and families who have lost relatives on the road arrived on the steps of City Hall this morning to decry what they consider a lack of enforcement and announce the introduction of a set of bills and resolutions they hope will impel the police department and the Bloomberg administration to take action.

Brooklyn Councilman David Greenfield gave a succinct appraisal of the situation.

"It's actually a perverse system," he said. "In the city of New York, what we're telling you is you can be a reckless driver, you can be a drunk driver, you can be an unlicensed driver, you can mow people over and nothing is going to happen to you. The reason is, we don't have the proper people power to handle it. At some times in the night, in the entire city of New York of eight and a half million people, you have one officer on for the entire city who is in charge of doing these kinds of investigations. God forbid you should have two serious accidents."

The problem for the council is that it has little control over the police department, so the new proposals are more public requests than public demands.  There is the possibility to overwhelm Mayor Bloomberg and Police Commissioner Ray Kelly with a wave of favorable public opinion (see: stop and frisk) but that does not always work (see: stop and frisk).

"The mayor and Commissioner Kelly could do everything we're asking for today if they wanted," Brooklyn Councilman Brad Lander said. They also could have done it yesterday, or the day before, or years ago, when advocates started asking for it in the face of accidents. It is clear they do not want to, and may not ever, even as the council tries.

"Many like to criticize, but traffic fatalities are at the lowest level in city history and we now have 30,000 fewer injury crashes per year–30,000 fewer per year–than we did a decade ago," Bloomberg spokesman Marc LaVorgna said in an email. "Those results did not happen by accident–it’s due to the aggressive enforcement and safety work of the NYPD and the traffic engineering work the Department of Transportation."

The issue seems to be not whether or not the streets are safer—indeed they are, and the administration may now find itself a victim of its own success—so much as family's inability to get information, and thus solace, about their loved ones. At times, the department has been accused of obfuscation and obstruction. The NYPD public affairs department did not respond to numerous requests for comment.

The council believes the city can do more, and it has started with a package of legislation proposed by Brooklyn Councilman Steve Levin—this is a big issue in the borough it seems, not least because it is the most populous and straddles the line between lots of walkers and lots of drivers; Councilwoman Tish James was also on hand.

To begin with, Mr. Levin wants the number of officers trained in accident investigations way up, from the 19 currently assigned to the Accident Investigation Squad to at least five officers per precinct. He also wants the city to investigate all serious accidents, defined as those causing considerable injury to a limb—an issue outlined in state law. He would require officers to track the speed, sobriety and responsibility of the driver in an accident, a factor not always considered, as well as requiring officers to file a complete crash report and the department to publicly outline its crash response plan.

"The New York City Police Department is ignoring state law, and New Yorkers want to know why," Mr. Levin said.

Mr. Lander and Bronx Councilman James Vacca, chair of the council's Transportation Committee, are also proposing a task force made up of representatives from various city agency's and groups to come up with recommendations for the department in tackling traffic accidents.

"Our traffic investigation system is fatally flawed," said Queens Councilman Peter Vallone Jr, chair of the public safety committee. "If someone backs through an intersection at 50 miles an hour but doesn't kill anybody, right now, they're only facing a traffic ticket, and only if a police officer saw it. As a former prosecutor, I can tell you, that is reckless endangerment."

Paul Steely White, executive director of Transportation Alternatives, said a survey his group did found no police departments in the U.S. or Europe that did not conduct an investigation of all serious accidents.

Two New Yorkers had join the politicians to share their story of roadside tragedy, a son who lost a father and a husband, his wife.

Jake Stevens recalled how a drunk driver ran over his wife. "This drunk driver who killed my wife last year is going to get away with a driving violation" for driving without a license, he said. Because no investigation was done, it is also difficult for families to seek civil damages.

Jay Deter lost his dad Ray last year, when he was hit by a 24-year-old driving a Jaguar, suspected of speeding down through Lower Manhattan, where Ray Deter was on his bike. "He was hit so hard, he shattered the windshield, shattered the moon roof, before landing on the ground," Jay Deter recounted, his hands shaking. His dad lived for six days in a coma before eventually succumbing to his injuries. By then, all signs of the accident had been erased. The only charges filed were for possession of marijuana.

"The message we are sending by doing nothing is that nothing is going to happen to you if you break the law," Mr. Greenfield said.

Elisha Otis demonstrating his first elevator. How much has changed?

The hearing room was full and the overflow room was overflowing at the New York City Council’s offices at 250 Broadway this afternoon. Maybe it was the fact that this was the first elevator safety hearing since two New Yorkers lost their lives in elevators in the past year. Maybe it was the fact that this was the first oversight hearing on elevator safety since 2003.

This in a city where most people live and work in high-rise, all serviced by some 60,000 elevators.

The main issue of the afternoon was two new elevator safety bills proposed by the council: one that would require existing elevators to be furnished with more safety devices and another that would require elevator workers to be licensed.

“We require licensing of our plumbers. We require licensing of our electricians. And the lack of elevator licensing is a major loophole,” said councilmember James Vacca, a sponsor of the licensing bill. “It is also a threat to the safety of millions of New Yorkers.”

The council was largely motivated to hold the hearing because of the elevator-related deaths of Suzanne Hart, 41, an advertising executive who was fatally injured on Dec. 14, 2011 when she walked into an elevator that shot upward unexpectedly; and Ed Bradley, 45, who was electrocuted on March 28 while working on an elevator. Council Speaker and expected 2013 mayoral candidate Christine Quinn briefly stopped by to comment on these deaths and voice her support for the bills.

“The Department of Buildings, the elevator industry, and the union have all worked to make elevators safer,“ she said. “But when New Yorkers continue to lose their lives, it’s clear that more needs to be done.”

The tone of the hearing occasionally turned heated between members of the council and representatives from the Departments of Buildings, responsible for the inspection and oversight of the city’s elevators. Although Buildings Commissioner Robert LiMandri said in his testimony that he felt the city was “moving in the right direction” with the two bills and later agreed that elevator mechanics should receive more training and undergo a more stringent certification process, his department still came under sharp criticism from councilmember Peter Vallone, Jr., a cosponsor of the licensing bill, and councilmember Robert Jackson.

Councilman Vallone, when he was questioning Buildings Department officials, mockingly commented on its current standards of qualification for elevator mechanics. “The mechanics have to be periodically trained as well as be able to provide the health and fitness to carry out their duties,” he said. “That may be the most minimum requirement I’ve ever heard of for any position, let alone a mechanic. I think anyone in this room has the health and fitness to carry out their duties.”

The questioning got more intense under Councilman Jackson, who became angry with the department over what he viewed as its vague responses to questions about whether or not elevator agency directors were allowed to contract out work to other companies.

“Are we running a safe business if in fact you can’t answer my simple question?” he asked. “I want an answer. Are you contracting out work?”

Commissioner LiMandri eventually said that, yes, the department was contracting out work, prompting Mr. Jackson to respond, “Well then how come you didn’t say that, then? That was a very simple question that demanded a simple answer.”

Mr. LiMandri apologized for the confusion, and subsequent councilmembers’ questions were much calmer.

Public opinion on the bills was mixed as that of a crowded elevator.

Steven Rakowski, speaking on behalf of Teamsters Local 237, said that the union supported the council’s desire to ensure that elevator workers were properly skilled and qualified. However, he expressed concern over whether or not the bill would result in job losses for current city employees.

Mary Ann Rothman, executive director of the council of New York Cooperatives & Condominiums, said that, while the apartment owners she was speaking for wanted their buildings to be safe, they were concerned about the costs that would be imposed by new standards for elevators and by how quickly the council planned to implement these new standards.

One thing’s for sure: Law and Order: Elevator Inspectors Unit may have just been a Simpsons gag back in 2002, but in 2012, it’s an issue New Yorkers aren’t laughing about.

editorial@observer.com

A self-assurance only multiple Davos trips can buy. (Image via Getty.)

The issue of the New Yorker available online today contains staff writer Nick Paumgarten's Davos diary which, while not the juiciest, at least offers an honest explanation of why coverage of the World Economic Forum's annual boondoggle is always so dull:

In general, the W.E.F. greets the media with a warm, if wary, embrace. This has apparently been the strategy since the 1999 anti-globalization riots in Seattle and elsewhere turned Davos into a target of popular, and then journalistic, bile. The place is lousy with reporters. The catch is that most of what goes on is off the record. Most of the sessions and private events are governed by the so-called Chatham House rule. The bargain is generally acceptable to the insidious extent that the thrill of access outweighs the urge to reveal. Anyway, as the journalists all say, nothing newsworthy ever happens at Davos, even if the journalists must occasionally pretend that it does, in order to justify their presence there. For most of them, it’s an occasion for cultivating sources, ideas, and the short-lived delusion that they belong among the white badges of the world.

Some might say journalists have a vocational mandate to reveal, in addition to the normal-human social "urge," but, whatever, we hope everyone is feeling inspired and sourced-up and important.

Mr. Paumgarten relayed one fun anecdote from a private soiree in a small, snowbound chalet a funicular ride up the mountain from Davos, which had been rented by Rupert Murdoch's son-in-law, and Sigmund Freud's great-grandson, Matthew Freud. There Mr. Paumgarten encountered Mick Jagger ("Jagger sightings were conversational currency," he admitted) and New York Times publisher Arthur Sulzberger's girlfriend Claudia Gonzalez ("a fixture in the international philanthropic and Big Ideas jetset," according to Capital NY).

I met the editor of a Turkish newspaper, the editor of a German newspaper, an Israeli hedge-fund manager, the founder of Wikipedia, and then a tall and elegant woman in a black dress named Claudia Gonzalez, who was the former P.R. boss for the W.E.F. She wanted to introduce me to Jagger, but first she needed to tell me something about my attempts to understand and convey the Davos scene. She fixed me with a fierce look and said, “Be humble. Do you understand? Be humble. Because this is your first Davos.”

Freshly tanned from a recent visit to Mexico, where he was overseeing a new project, the slicked-back scion grew steadily more enthusiastic as he discussed 40 Wall Street, an office tower that, with its rising and falling tenant roster, has contributed to the Trump Organization executive vice president’s growing reputation as a competent steward of the family name, a reliable fixer and successful dealmaker in his own right.

Donald Trump Jr. (photo credit: Hannah Mattix)

“When I took over the building, there was a lull in the market,” recalled Mr. Trump, who said the address remains one of his well-known father’s favorite properties. “By the time we fixed everything up and got it going, there was a high. It was certainly a unique experience. My focus had been on residential development as well as some resort hotel development, so to learn that part of the business and to spend time with that part of the business was fascinating to me. So I got involved and made it a big part of my day-to-day life.”

Indeed, 40 Wall Street had languished in the Trump portfolio since the mid-’90s, when family paterfamilias Donald Trump purchased the building from Kinson Properties, a Hong Kong-based company. Back then, internal discussions raged on whether to convert the office tower into residential property or to keep it as offices, according to insiders. The senior Trump eventually settled on keeping it as an office tower, and nearly 20 years after that decision, 40 Wall Street’s fortunes fell on his oldest son, who until then had never managed an office building.

(Disclaimer: Mr. Trump is the brother-in-law of Observer Media Group owner Jared Kushner.)

The junior Trump had spent much of his career overseeing a stretch of luxury developments along the West Side rail yards. He then jumped from project to project, working on construction of Trump International Hotel and Tower in Chicago and handling Trump licensing deals across the world.

But managing an office building as storied as 40 Wall Street, until recently known among tenant brokers as a difficult place to do business in part because of at least one Trump executive’s heavy involvement with leasing at the address, was entirely new to Mr. Trump.  

Now faced with his first-ever office-building management assignment, Mr. Trump made a strategic play to woo brokers, who, perhaps more than anyone else, had the leverage to sell 40 Wall Street to potential office tenants. “I look at the brokerage world as your unpaid sales force until they perform,” he said. “What I wanted to do was befriend those people, get to know the players.”

He reached out to Jeffrey Lichtenberg, an executive vice president at Cushman & Wakefield who had worked with the Trump Organization in the past. Mr. Lichtenberg and his team were eventually brought on as the exclusive leasing agents for 40 Wall Street, and from there, they courted other big brokerage firms to rouse up business.

“What we did was, instead of having one big party, we had a series of lunches with each firm,” said Mr. Lichtenberg. The message, brokers on both sides of the table said, was simple: 40 Wall Street was open for business. It wanted to work with brokers and it wanted new tenants.

“Because Don was cooperative and helpful to me and then we were cooperative to the brokers, the brokers realized that the best place for them to bring a tenant to get a deal done was 40 Wall,” added Mr. Lichtenberg. “Don helped turn around the image of the building.”

What also helped spur leasing activity was Mr. Trump’s willingness to sweeten the deal by offering incentive packages. He also kept a simple pledge: if a broker brings in business to 40 Wall Street, he would make honoring that broker’s commission a top priority.

“If I tell them I am going to do something, I am going to do it,” said Mr. Trump. “If I tell them that they’re going to get their commission check on this moment, they are going to get it on or before this moment,” he added, hitting the table with an index finger for emphasis.

That pledge worked. Jones Lang LaSalle broker Dan Suozzi, who had lunch with Mr. Lichtenberg and his team at Bobby Van’s during that recruitment period, estimates he has brought four tenants to 40 Wall Street in the past two and a half years, the most recent being John Carris Investments for roughly 13,000 square feet. (Former New Jersey Governor Jon Corzine was rumored to be subleasing space from John Carris.)

“Don Jr. was a pleasure to work with and he does the right thing and is very personable,” said Mr. Suozzi. “It makes a difference when you’re bringing a tenant through the building.”

Once they had the ears of intrigued brokers, Mr. Trump and his team focused on redefining 40 Wall Street’s image as a financial services asset. “With the Wall Street address 10 years ago, it was all financial industry,” said Mr. Trump. “Today, in the digital age, the street location is less critical.”

Mr. Trump also honed in on what his family’s building could offer that his competitors couldn’t. He targeted a crowd that didn’t fit the traditional mold of a Wall Street tenant, selling them on 40 Wall Street’s “impeccable” management services and attractive deal incentives. The Trump Organization has a “fungible” balance sheet that enabled it to offer value propositions, he added.

Wall Street address aside, 40 Wall Street had the charm of a Midtown South building with Midtown South amenities. It had recently renovated tons of turn-key space, and it had a Duane Reade megastore, the first of its kind that, with its sushi bar and a hair salon, could give the average customer a new ’do with her bottle of Kaopectate.

“With the Condé [Nast] deal and with everything that is going on downtown, I think it’s an opportunity for buildings to have boutique space they can do something with and offer that value proposition to tenants that are going to be the guys who are going to feed off those megadeals,” said Mr. Trump.

The offer worked. Midtown mainstays like the Harry Fox Agency and Duane Reade committed to the building for substantial office space, each with square footages in the five figures. Wiedlinger Associates and Leslie E. Robertson Associates also moved into the building.

“I had never done a deal with the Trumps in my 18-year career,” said Greg Taubin, a senior managing director at Studley who represented the Harry Fox Agency in its 47,144-square-foot sublease on the fifth floor. “You would always hear different things about having to deal with the organization, but those days are over. The reason is because of Donny Jr. getting involved and making decisions.”

Now faced with tenable vacancies in the base of the building, nearing a total of 100,000 square feet, Mr. Trump is enjoying his time at 40 Wall Street while also working on the development of Trump International Golf Links in Scotland.

“What makes my job interesting is that on any given day I can work on something that’s totally different,” he said. “It keeps things very interesting and fluid.”

drosen@observer.com

Aziz Ansari and Drake at The Bing Bar

Day 2 of the Sundance Film Festival found The Observer snowbound in the extreme. We're talking enough snow to give Mayor Bloomberg and the New York City transit system nightmares. Astronomic surcharges became the norm as Park City's anemic livery force struggled to even make the most ludicrous time frames: "Yeah I can have a guy up there in like 3 and a half hours?" deadpanned one audacious taxi dispatcher, who seemed to take pleasure in seeing so many city slickers squeal.

Despite the odds, The Observer met up with Ogilvy Entertainment's Creative Director Otto Bell to snag tickets for what would be our first activity of the day—a 3:30 screening of Escape Fire, an uplifting exposé on the pitfalls of the American healthcare system—which marked our event sans bottle service.

• While procuring popcorn, we overheard a cinema staffer: "Dude that's totally the president from 24, and those car insurance commercials..." And in typical Sundance fashion, it totally was.
• Dennis Haysbert found the film "Spectacular!" noting that everyone in America should see it. We had a hard time disagreeing.

Next stop: Back to the den of debauchery and Xbox game demos, the Bing Bar, for Lay The Favorite's cast dinner.

• Seconds in, we find ourselves in front of a freshly bandaged (just a little "don't worry I'm fine" melanoma) William H. Macy who revealed that he took "the Jitney!" to get to where he was at this very instant.
• As it turns out, a slightly more surly Corbin Bernsen "rented a fucking car."
• Mr. Bernsen could pass as a stunt double for co-star Bruce Willis.
• Chick-boner magnet Joshua Jackson claimed that it was in fact "the shuttle bus" that got him here today, which he conceded was "a bit of a smart ass response, but I'm gonna stick with it. Final answer."
• Cigarettes have not been kind to Laura Prepon, but man is her raspy voice awesome. Keep it up, Laura.

A quick stop to the Grey Goose Blue Door for the cast dinner of Arbitrage

• "Troubled hedge fund magnate" Richard Gere illustrated that no matter how many bespoke suits he may be forced to wear on screen, he's most comfortable in jeans and a baseball cap.
• Grey Goose employs a suspiciously attractive waitstaff. We were fine with this.

Sucked back in, we head to Bing Bar to see what Aziz Ansari and Drake have up their sleeves.

• A friendly (read: not so friendly) turf war erupted on the red carpet between film crews for VH1 and MTV after The Observer posited that VH1 clearly had the cooler microphone of the two.
• Mr. Ansari took the stage, promptly reminding everyone just how well he knows Kanye West.
• Drake's seemingly insulting observation that he knew way too many here right now that he didn't know last year ("Who the fuck are y'all?") was incredibly well received.
• Cuba Gooding Jr.

In it's last gasp of life, our phone lit up reminding us that Ryan Raddon aka. DJ Kaskade would be taking the stage shortly at our favorite petting zoo: Tao.

• Door girls at Tao Sundance did not find it amusing when we informed them that their balaclava and floor length parka outfits resembled North Face Burkas.
• Lil Jon somehow didn't smell like pot, an observation that was quickly rendered obsolete.
• Josh Hartnett had nailed down this look that said, "I'm Josh Hartnett."
• Mr. Ansari genuinely cares about the exposed legs of his nearly all-female posse.
• All bars should be open bars.

À demain.

William Cuddy, Jr., and Budd Wiesenberg, both of CBRE, represented the seller, Stewart EFI, in the transaction.

630 Central Park Avenue, Yonkers, NY

Stewart EFI, an international supplier of precision progressive die and deep drawn metal stampings, according to its website, will be consolidating operations at facilities in Connecticut and El Paso, Texas.

“The building has a unique presence as a gateway to Westchester," said Mr. Wiesenberg in a prepared statement issued last week. "This high visibility from both Central Avenue and I-87 should bring significant branding exposure for Express Cabinets, Inc. too.”

Daniel Edward Rosen, Staff Writer, is reachable at DRosen@Observer.com

Mueller and Connick Jr.

Question for the catastrophic new Broadway resuscitation of On a Clear Day You Can See Forever: To quote the title of a show-stopping song that is currently being massacred nightly at the St. James Theatre, “What Did I Have That I Don’t Have?”

Answer: Just about everything.

For starters, you don’t have Barbara Harris, who skyrocketed to major stardom in the original 1965 production. That’s a given. We know that going in. She was one of the very few genuinely electrifying stars I have seen in my lifetime who walked onto the stage, opened her mouth and drove the audience to its feet with a screaming ovation on her opening number. It was a vibrant, buoyant song by Alan Jay Lerner and Burton Lane called “Hurry! It’s Lovely Up Here” and although it is still the opening number of this disastrously ill-advised new production, nobody screams or applauds above a polite hey-ho, what’s next? This is because not only is Barbara Harris not around as a flaky, adorable kook named Daisy Gamble, who goes to a shrink to stop smoking and discovers, under hypnosis, she lived another life as a glamorous courtesan in 18th-century London (much confusion ensued, accompanied by a multitude of fabulous songs), but because Daisy is no longer on the scene, either. She is now a flamboyantly limp-wristed, swivel-hipped cretin with a swirling navel named David. Half of the songs are missing, too. What’s left you wouldn’t wish on the hit-and-run driver who ran over your favorite cocker spaniel. This is not a revival, or even a deluded revisionist rethink. It’s more like a disembowelment.

Nothing about this fiasco makes any sense, including the update from 1965 to 1974. The psychiatrist is now played by crooner Harry Connick Jr., an agreeable stage presence (remember The Pajama Game) so criminally wasted that all he does is stand around taking notes while David, who is having trouble committing to his lover, Warren (the word “partner” in 1974 was reserved for lawyers who hung out their shingles to lure lawsuits), shows his belly button and prisses about in bell bottoms on psychedelic sets so ugly they look like the eye charts in an optometrist’s office. Mr. Connick discovers, when he puts David to sleep, that he is still a reincarnation—this time of a World War II jazz singer named Melinda who died in a plane crash on her way to her first USO tour. The grieving, recently widowed analyst, more frustrated than his patients and still grieving over the death of his late wife, falls in love with the jazz singer in a case that changes his views on life, death, psychic phenomena and big band music. He keeps increasing his appointments with David, hoping to see Melinda, but the hapless David thinks he wants to see him. All of which leads to insertions of extraneous songs that bear no relation to the revised book, including a terrible dirge called “Who Is There Among Us Who Knows” originally sung by Jack Nicholson in the disappointing Barbra Streisand movie version and then deleted for obvious reasons. Melinda is played by the phenomenally talented Jessie Mueller. She and her swinging, syncopated version of “Every Night at Seven” is the best thing in the show, and it’s not even a song from On a Clear Day You Can See Forever. It’s a Fred Astaire song from the MGM musical Royal Wedding interpolated to bring the snoozing audience back to life. The worst thing in the show is David Turner, a grinning, charisma-challenged, gay Howdy Doody hopping onto fire-engine-red sofas in skin-tight retro costumes of fuchsia and mustard who has never heard of what Kay Thompson used to call “bazazz.” Every time Mr. Connick tries to kiss Melinda, Ms. Mueller steps back, Mr. Turner puckers his lips and moves in for the clinch, and Mr. Connick looks stricken as the lights go out. I’ve never seen a star with marquee value this miserable on a Broadway stage. Under green and purple gels that turn the ugliest sets I’ve ever seen (by Christine Jones) from teal blue and pomegranate to orange popsicle and raspberry, he looks like he’s fighting an attack of acid reflux.

In an age when voicing even the mildest reservation about a gay theme, action or intention is misinterpreted as homophobic, it’s not easy to tell you how headache-inducing this all is. The labored gay concept, “reconceived and directed” by Michael Mayer, and the “new book,” by Peter Parnell, with its cheap jokes about the TV show Bewitched, Truman Capote, Funny Girl and other gay icons, are among the crappiest ideas in a decade. This mess is happening with the approval of Alan Jay Lerner’s daughter and Burton Lane’s widow, Lynn, a hip and sophisticated lady with great taste who definitely knows better. Whatever were they thinking? The piddling amount of money generated from a show that was just lying in a drawer begging for an overhaul is not worth trashing the reputation of a show I always loved. There is no way they can fix it. It is already headed for the slag pit.

And so we have a dismal flop that fails on every level and invites its own pans. When poor Ms. Mueller sings another Fred Astaire movie song, “You’re All the World to Me,” she’s strapped into a violent purple creation from a bad LSD trip. Lucky Mr. Connick wears only horn-rim glasses and a conservative blue suit, which gives him the countenance of an onlooker keeping a safe distance from the rest of the cast, amateurishly choreographed by Joann Hunter like spastic puppets. But the show is a lethal career move. If he wants to sing classics from the Great American Songbook like “Too Late Now” and the title song, why doesn’t he just record a new CD? They’ve sucked the charm out of a melodic score and left him with nothing to replace it. It might have seemed like a viable idea on paper, but it vaporizes before the first act ends, and when the star opens Act II with the line “It gets worse,” the audience response backfires like a can of beans.

The Eighth Avenue subway runs under the floor of the St. James Theatre, but the rumble you hear is not the A train. It’s the sound of Alan Jay Lerner and Burton Lane turning over in their graves.

rreed@observer.com