Be sure to read the fine print about Beaches: A New Musical, now on Broadway. This is not an adaptation of the beloved 1988 movie, in which Barbara Hershey played advocate and lawyer Hillary Whitney, and Bette Midler brought bawdy brilliance to singer C.C. Bloom. The Broadway stage musical Beaches is instead based on the movie's inspiration: Iris Rainer Dart's 1985 novel about the highs and lows of the friendship of outgoing actress Cee Cee Bloom and sheepish preppy Bertie White. 

The author has a heavy hand in this stage adaptation, writing both the book — with the help of playwright Thom Thomas — and the lyrics, while Mike Stoller, who once co-wrote songs for Elvis, composed the music. This makes for a stage show that is shockingly disconnected from Garry Marshall's cinematic tearjerker, as the plot is starkly different, especially for Bertie/Hillary. However, directors Lonny Price and Matt Cowart fight hard to bring the Beaches that movie-goers loved to the stage in some capacity. And leading lady Jessica Vosk does her damndest to bring a Midler-level moxie to every scene and song. 

It's just a shame that Dart's book and lyrics are less the wind beneath her wings and more an anchor sinking the whole production. 

Beaches on Broadway ditches most of the movie's songs. 

Only "Wind Beneath My Wings," which won the Grammy for Record of the Year and Song of the Year, makes the playlist for the stage musical Beaches. In the movie, Midler also sang moving covers of "Under the Boardwalk," "The Glory of Love," and "Baby Mine." None of these makes the stage. And bad news for fans of Midler's playful performance of "Otto Titsling," the comical story of the uncredited inventor of the brassiere; that daffy track doesn't make it to Broadway either. Worse news: This last omission sharply reflects how Dart leaned hard away from the movie's most fun and campy bits. 

Beaches — in both versions — begins with a grown-up Cee Cee (Vosk) rehearsing a song for a big show, when a mysterious phone call causes her to race away. Then, the story flashes back to decades before, when Cee Cee was a fiery little girl (Samantha Schwartz) who befriended a shy, posh little Bertie (Zeya Grace) on a beach in New Jersey. The two became pen pals, supporting each other through fights with their overbearing mothers and frustrations with boys and then men. For a stint in their 20s, they'd live together in a cramped but beloved apartment as Cee Cee tried to make it as an actress, and Bertie helped out at the theater — mostly to avoid her mother and Michael, the boring man she was expected to marry. 

Both women will marry soon enough. But while Cee Cee's career takes off, Bertie (unlike her movie counterpart, Hillary) fails to realize her dream of becoming a lawyer. However, she does still have a daughter that she adores. A big misunderstanding will keep the two friends estranged for years, but they'll ultimately reconnect over Bertie's pregnancy, and then again when she gets fatally ill.

Despite all the highs and lows of their relationships, the songs that Dart and Stoller write all feel achingly one-note. "You Believe in Me," "Wish I Could Be Like You," and "My Best" all share the sentiment that these two are so different yet love each other more than anyone else. Even "God Bless Girlfriends" — sung by their annoyed husbands — echoes this. And none of these numbers has the emotional wallop or the visual language of "Wind Beneath My Wings." Instead, they all feel like mediocre AI-generated imitations of that great song. 

Beaches on Broadway presents confounding characters. 

Seeing Beaches the movie made me curious about Beaches the musical, but Beaches the musical does not make me curious about Beaches the book. The songs are frustratingly forgettable, but moreover, the story feels vexingly dated and thin. 

In Mary Agnes Donoghue's script for the movie, Hillary's ambitions as a lawyer made her equal to C.C. in ambition. In Dart's Broadway show, it's hard to understand who Bertie is, as the author/playwright leaves gaping holes in her story. Bertie has dreams of becoming an attorney, but when they go nowhere, it's unclear what she's done instead. Likewise confusing is, who is Aunt Neetie? Bertie's daughter Nina brings her up repeatedly, qualifying her as her "real" aunt as a means to show disdain for Cee Cee. And while both "aunts" seem in contention for raising Nina after Bertie dies, because Neetie isn't on stage, she's a distracting obstacle with no grounding. What we do know is Bertie says she has no sister. So maybe Neetie is her sister-in-law? But after their divorce, Michael has no relationship with his daughter Nina. So, what's the likelihood Aunt Neetie is Michael's sister? It's a perplexing plot hole that becomes more grievous in the show's final act.

Dart also ignores Bertie's privilege with a song called "Normal," where Bertie taunts Cee Cee that the brassy star could never have a "normal" life. But all her examples are about being wealthy, like having servants on hand. And these are all things the affluent Bertie has had access to since birth. Her husband, Michael (Ben Jacoby), gives no further insight into who she is, as he's a thinly sketched creep in a suit coat. By contrast, Cee Cee's husband John (Brent Thiessen) is a creep in an open denim shirt. They come off as the same guy in different fonts. 

Now, you might wonder if that's intentional to bolster the queer undertones that existed in the movie. Queer audiences have long speculated whether or not these women were actually in love with each other. Well, a lyric in "The Brand New Me" might have you think so, as Bertie sings about realizing she's in love with a girl. But it's a misdirect; she means the brand-new her. Then, the women share a double wedding on stage, where both are giddily dressed as brides. Here, the six actresses who play Bertie and Cee Cee as children, teens, and adults frolic together, while the grooms are a bland accessory. (Like an unconvincing beard?) 

Jessica Vosk and Beaches directors try to bring the camp and Midler flare. 

This is a thankless show for the cast. The songs are awful. And all of the adult actors, aside from leads Jessica Vosk and Kelli Barrett, are tasked to play multiple thin roles, including teen Cee Cee (Bailey Ryon), teen Bertie (Emma Ogea), Cee Cee's mom (Sarah Bockel), and nuns, TV studio techs, nurses, and people waiting for a plane. It can actually be confusing when all of a sudden the actor who plays Cee Cee's husband is in a scene as a different character, with no attempt at disguise beyond a suit jacket. But props to Zurin Villanueva, who is given a smattering of bit parts, and manages to be dazzling and funny in every one. Here's hoping she'll get a role worth of her charisma soon.

As for Barrett, she commits completely to Bertie's agonies and ecstasies as Dart's script has her character turn on the head of a pin, from furious to benevolent. It's not her fault that it doesn't work. It's the unconvincing lyrics, made-up cliches possibly snatched from Hallmark cards. Barrett is at her best in the dialogue scenes, where she can play with Vosk, whose vivacity lifts everyone around her. 

Vosk gives her all to every underwhelming song. And while I can't remember a single lyric from the new Broadway numbers, I can remember the way my heart soared as she hit a high note with a broad smile. She's a stunner who understands why the audience has come. She's working hard to give us Midler-like oomph. And that is echoed by her teeny counterpart, Samantha Schwartz, who is a dynamic pint-sized showgirl with charisma and chutzpah to spare. 

Vosk sinks her teeth into Cee Cee's zeal, jealousy, and earnestness. Directors Price and Cowart support her by bringing in Midler allusions, like a scene where the staging suggests Cee Cee is performing at a bathhouse, as Midler used to, or a double-bunned red wig that recalls Midler's look in Hocus Pocus. Likewise, some costume choices — including the little girls' outfits — recall the movie directly, gladly playing on the audience's nostalgia. You can feel in these choices the attempt to please an audience of women who connected to Hillary and C.C.'s tumultuous story and to the queer audiences who love Midler's brassy bravura. But these flourishes,  while charming, cannot wrestle Beaches from the banality of Dart's writing. 

Plus, the rest of the staging is a mess. Rather than physical set pieces, a collection of columns affixed with projectors blares suggestions of a setting, like street signs or graphics, which do not evoke mood or location effectively. The front of the stage is a sandy beach dune, with fronds poking up for the girls to play on. Then, in the final act, when they are on a beach, the backdrop is painted. After so much projection, in this final moment, where the beauty of the beach itself could help anchor the heavy emotions about to flow, they went with a backdrop that looks like a motel room painting.

More thoughtless, though, was the blocking. A platform on the stage creates a second stage, which is used as a beach house veranda, a TV studio set, and a variety of other theater stages for Cee Cee to strut upon. This was multipurposeful and smart. However, the blocking often has the actresses sitting or lying down on this stage. In my orchestra seats, there were times I could not see who was singing without moving my head to crane around the person in front of me. I'm short, admittedly. But at the intermission, I switched seats with my guest, and he, who is not short, still had issues, despite the person in front of us not being exceptionally tall! Maybe this is a show better suited for the cheap seats?

All in all, Beaches is a profound disappointment. Vosk gives her all to racy jokes, high notes, and an iconically bold heroine. The supporting cast is asked to sing, dance, and play a bevy of small parts and thinly written characters. The directors try to weave in elements from the movie and Midler's broader impact to appeal to fans of her and the film. But in the end, this show is doomed by Dart's underwhelming writing.

Beaches is now on Broadway, and will begin national tours this fall.