The Nanny Musical, A New Broadway Musical Comedy
- Joseph Stanek
- May 6
- 7 min read
The Nanny Musical Plot Outline:
Act I:
Years after saying “I do,” Fran Fine Sheffield has traded Flushing for Fifth Avenue, nanny life for gala lunches, and her corner boutique ensembles for head-to-toe Chanel (though she can't stop herself from buying a good pair of gold lamé stirrups when she can find ‘em). The kids are all grown now and have families and lives of their own. Married to Broadway producer Maxwell Sheffield, she’s settled into living the dream... but is settling into anything a good thing?
Suddenly, news breaks that Andrew Lloyd Webber, Mr. Sheffield's arch nemesis in the Broadway scene, is penning a musical based on Fran's real life! When Fran learns that her rags-to-riches life story is being turned into a Broadway musical—with her blessing and creative consultation—she kvells. ("From Flushing to Footlights") There’s an uproarious fantasy sequence where she imagines herself headlining as herself, a true tour de force and quintessential Broadway number as she struts back and forth across the stage in increasingly absurd fashion mashups that look like Liberace raided a Contempo Casuals going-out-of-business sale ("Style & Flair: The Montage"). Maxwell is, of course, offended that she would agree to such a project with his arch nemesis, but she's made her decision: she wants to go ahead with her involvement.
But then, disaster.
Fran accidentally overhears the producers discussing casting plans for the role of Fran Fine. They want "a young unknown," someone "sexy", that can do "the accent" and "the laugh" but can, "switch it off when she sings so she doesn't leave the audience's ears bleeding with too much of that nails-on-a-chalkboard voice." They joke about how insane it would be to cast the real Fran Fine. "Can you imagine her actually doing 8 shows a week? Oy vey, the insurance alone!" ("Thanks, But No Thanks")
Crushed, Fran spirals. Is she washed up? Has her time passed? ("Hot Flashbacks")
She slinks home, heartbroken, plops onto her fainting couch, and does what any self-respecting woman in crisis would do: she reaches for a vintage copy of Cosmo—from 1993. (“The horoscopes were better back then. They didn’t sugarcoat your doom.”)
As she flips dramatically through the magazine, a handwritten, slightly crumpled flyer falls out from between the pages and flutters to the floor. It reads:
“Tired of being underestimated?Want to shut up your critics, out-sing your competition, and finally take center stage? Acting, Singing, Dancing... Three of the best Broadway coaches. One chance to reinvent yourself. Call: (555) 1-FLAIR-NOW. Serious inquiries only. No divas. No refunds. No flats.”
Niles catches her, and she confides in him. He gently reminds her, "You're not expired, you're just fermented." But it's his casual mention of her "style and flair" that really ignites her fire. In secret, she calls and books group classes for herself every day until the audition.
Meanwhile...
Sylvia has connived her way into a substitute position at Studio En Pointe after luring the real instructors to Europe with all-expenses-paid "fellowships." No one questions the substitute acting, dance, and singing coaches (although they all bear striking resemblances to each other...). And they've arrived just in time to teach Fran’s group classes.
Fran's three new instructors are... eccentric, to say the least:
Renata von Huffle – a tight-bunned Austrian dance instructor who trained under Baryshnikov but blames him for her bad knees.
Giuseppe Cannoli – an overly passionate Italian vocal coach who sobs during warm-ups and insists Fran's voice has “the flavor of truffle oil, if truffle oil screamed.”
Sheila Smalls – a jaded, chain-smoking Staten Island acting teacher who once understudied Bernadette Peters and won’t shut up about it.
(“Coach Me, Maybe”) is a fast-paced, comic tour de force with the actor quick-changing between roles, complete with chaotic entrances, accents, and increasing confusion as Fran begins to suspect something’s up:
“Why do they all smell like pastrami on rye?!”
As she shuffles between press junkets and pliés, Fran’s old-school charisma, fashion-forward dancewear, and over-the-top personality start turning heads. People begin recognizing her not as Mrs. Sheffield, but as “that dazzling, flashy woman from class with the voice like champagne and gravel.” ("Who’s That Girl in the Leotard and Leopard?")
She charms her teachers, inspires fellow students, and ends up unintentionally launching a trend of 90s revival athleisure wear called FlairCore™.
Still, she dodges exposure with increasing difficulty—especially when fans ask for selfies mid-spin class or call out “Hey, Fran!” while she’s walking down Park Avenue with Maxwell ("This Nose Don’t Lie").
Despite setbacks (a jazz square-induced hamstring pull, an accidental wig fire, and one particularly scathing mock audition), Fran grows. She begins to see herself not as the relic the producers feared—but as a woman with resilience, heart, and still a whole lotta chutzpah. ("My Second Act" – the emotional closing number of Act I.)
Act II:
Fran is in the final stages of prep. Her secret training is complete. The producers announce they’re holding the final open auditions at the Minskoff Theatre—and it will be broadcast live on national television, with America deciding the vote. If Fran auditions and bombs, it won’t just hurt her pride. It could derail the entire show.
Still, she goes for it. She disguises herself as “Frannie Feinstein from Forest Hills” with a new wig, fake mole, and exaggerated accent (if that’s even possible).
The first round in the audition: a dance call. The number is brutal, but Frannie Feinstein is the last one to make the cut.
The second round: acting. Each actress auditions solo, and Frannie is last in line. She overhears her friends from class in line ahead of her talking about her. "Has anyone actually seen her at an audition?" "This role was practically written for her." Conflicted, she waits her turn in contemplation ("That's Me, Doll").
It's Frannie's turn. She steps onstage, visibly torn, not knowing what to do. Cameras are rolling. She begins to speak, questioning why she showed up to the audition. She speaks about Hollywood and Hollywood standards, how the entire machine forces people all over the world into self-doubt, thinking they're too old or spent to actually be a role model for others. She begins to take off her disguise little-by-little as she grows more and more passionate in her delivery. And finally, the big reveal, she discloses her identity, weeping and exhausted after trying everything in her power to fit into someone else's idea of who she should be, but she's done, kaput, she wants nothing to do with a production that doesn't value authenticity and real flair over impossible standards that make others feel unworthy of a life they created themselves.
She storms off stage to raucous applause as America clears her for the next round of auditions. She enters again with a smile and a wink and a shout-out to her acting coach.
Backstage, the producers have announced that they're running short on time, so they're skipping the singing and going straight into the final round: singing, acting, and dancing together. This will determine who gets cast.
Just after the producers announce the final all-in-one performance round, Fran has a moment of panic backstage. She’s been riding the high of the audience’s approval, but now reality hits: she has to sing... on live TV... after emotionally detonating her soul onstage.
As she begins to spiral, her three coaches—Renata, Giuseppe, and Sheila—rush into the dressing room, arguing in overlapping accents. The camera crew captures it all.
RENATA: “You must zink about your core and your lines!”
GIUSEPPE: “No! She must sing from the stomach-a like she’s digesting lasagna!”
SHEILA: “You're both nuts. She just needs to hit her mark and not freeze like Liza at the Tonys in ’87.”
Fran freezes. “Wait... what are you all doing here? Together?”
Beat. The three look at each other.
Renata removes her bun.
Giuseppe pulls off his mustache.
Sheila peels off her wig.
It’s Sylvia.
Fran gasps: “Ma?!”
Sylvia, full Queens regalia beneath the costume scraps, simply shrugs:
“You were never gonna let your mother help you. So I figured—why not let three strangers do it?”
Fran laughs through her tears. Sylvia continues:
“You think I don’t know what it feels like to be too much? Too loud? Too old, too Jewish, too rhinestone? You didn’t need fixing. You needed reminding.”
They hug. A silent beat.
Then Sylvia snaps into stage mom mode:
“Now go out there and show them what real flair looks like. You were born for this—literally, they had to induce me 'cause you wouldn't stop singing in the womb.”
Cue final number setup.
Finale Performance: "Flair Is a State of Mind"
Fran takes the stage for the final round, no disguises, no apologies. With dancers, backup singers, a 12 o’clock belt, and a glitter cannon at the key change, she performs “Flair Is a State of Mind”—a defiant, joyful anthem about writing your own story, owning your voice, and never letting the world tell you you’re too late to shine.
Final Scene / Curtain:
The stage transforms into a sparkling dreamscape version of Queens-meets-Broadway.
Maxwell appears in the wings, beaming. Niles pops a bottle. The chorus floods in. Sylvia appears, center stage, in full sequins.
Everyone joins in for the “Style & Flair (Reprise)”—including Fran’s former classmates, the audience, and the TV crew.
Whether she gets the role or not, Fran walks offstage transformed. Not into a new woman, but into a woman who finally remembers who she’s been all along.
CURTAIN ON THE NANNY MUSICAL.
STANDING OVATION.
Glitter. Confetti. Wig reveal encore optional.
(At least, this is how I see The Nanny musical on stage... Thoughts?)
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