Liz Callaway, ‘Screen Gems’
54 Below
July 6-8 and July 11; Livestreaming July 8

Here are two ways to sing a beloved standard: You can get all soft, intimate, and understated, or you can show off a bit of chops and technique, throw in some key changes, and belt. The first allows the audience to come to you; the second may sometimes seem as though you’re pandering to the audience, but it can also be effective.

Singing “Moon River” at 54 Below, Liz Callaway somehow did both on her opening night. She started very low-key and personal, with just her pianist Alex Rybeck for accompaniment, as if quietly weaving a spell; together, they took us through a whole chorus, as if crossing from one side of the river to the other. Then she returned to the bridge, and when she came to the last eight bars she went up a half step, in a way that was at once both subtle and exciting. 

It was a thrilling moment, and at least the bald guy at table 21 cheered in appreciation.

“Tonight you’re going to hear a rather eclectic, very personal collection of some of my favorites,” Ms. Callaway told us early in the set. After she first said she was doing a program of film songs, I expected that she would draw largely on the classic movie musical numbers of the 1930s and ’40s. Instead, the setlist focused on film theme songs of the last 50 years, which means that these are all essentially films and songs that Ms. Callaway, who was born in 1961, experienced when they were new. 

The overall impression was that the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s were a golden age of movie title themes. One could, in fact, make that point with the songs of Alan and Marilyn Bergman alone, and they were represented with “It Might Be You” and “The Way We Were.” 

Mr. Bergman has expressed that the ambiguity of the first, from “Tootsie,” has bothered him somewhat — it’s not nearly as affirmative as most of his lyrics. Ms. Callaway used that uncertainty as the driving force of her interpretation, delivered with a hesitating quality that drew the audience into the internal workings of the mental gears turning, the thought process illuminated in performance.

Apart from the Bergmans, we also were treated to some of the best work of David Shire, with “It Goes Like It Goes” from “Norma Rae,” and André and Dory Previn’s stunning “Theme from the Valley of The Dolls,” which never had another title – though it deserves one. “Cold Enough to Snow” from “Life with Mikey,” by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz, was a lesser known theme that delighted us, while also accurately describing the effectiveness of 54 Below’s air-conditioning system.  

Burt Bacharach was also represented, with “The Look of Love” and “Arthur’s Theme,” which took four major songwriters to write, the others being Christopher Cross, Carole Bayer Sager, and Peter Allen. As Ms. Callaway proved thoroughly, it was worth the combined effort. 

Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman’s elegiac lullaby “The Place Where the Lost Things Go” from “Mary Poppins Returns” was the only 21st century song, but it too was eminently worthy of a place at this table.

Throughout, Ms. Callaway and Mr. Rybeck, her musical director, along with bassist Ritt Henn and drummer Ron Tierno, also featured a series of mash-ups, often of a classical Hollywood song with a more modern title theme. She opened with the classic “When You Wish Upon a Star”  leading into “Let the River Run” (from “Working Girl”). Generally, she started with the older song progressing into the newer one, as with “Over the Rainbow” into “You’re Gonna Hear From Me.” She also delivered a mesmerizing “Beautiful City” from “Godspell,” a secular hymn that could be mashed up with John Lennon’s “Imagine.” 

About halfway through, she started with “Singin’ in the Rain” and from there led into “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head.” Still, this wasn’t any “Singin’ in the Rain” that most of us would recognize; she and Mr. Rybeck reworked the tune to sound like a direct extension of “Raindrops.” Somehow, “Singin’ in the Rain,” while retaining Arthur Freed’s original lyrics, now sounded like it had been written by Burt Bacharach. They started with two distinct, familiar songs, and ended with something wholly new.

Then, too, one of the more effective collages was of two highly compatible, hauntingly romantic 1960s movie themes with lyrics by Leslie Bricusse, “Two for the Road,” with a melody by Henry Mancini, and “You and I.” Like two lovers, the two songs, the latter from “Goodbye, Mr. Chips,” seem to complete each other. From now, I don’t think I ever want to hear one without the other.