Playwright: Dale Wasserman, Mitch Leigh ( music ) , Joe Darion ( lyrics )
At: Court Theatre
Phone: ( 773 ) 753-4472; $35-$50
Runs through: Nov. 6
I've seen two of the three classic American musicals 'reimagined' by Court Theater artistic director Charles Newell, My Fair Lady and Man of La Mancha. That's enough to know that he and I profoundly disagree about how America's greatest contributions to theater should be presented.
The issue isn't execution, but conception. Man of La Mancha brims with talent, is well-designed ( reminiscent of the original semi-thrust staging ) and boasts an excellent mini-orchestra. Under Newell's direction, dramatic story-telling is strong and song lyrics are crystal clear. But something huge is missing: the music. It's not literally missing; but Newell's obsessive emphasis on dialogue and lyrics nearly eviscerates the score. The musical through-line is sacrificed to the dramatic through-line.
This isn't chance; it's Newell's way. He doesn't recognize that there IS a musical through-line as important as the dramatic through-line. He doesn't seem to understand that show music not only has emotive power but the force of ideas as well, and that music—not lyrics alone—must be allowed to make an impression. Newell suppresses that impression, continually reining in the music. He did it in My Fair Lady and he does it in Man of La Mancha.
He eliminates production numbers and almost all dance ( although Marla Lampert is billed as choreographer ) , thereby removing a fundamental element of the American musical. Then, songs are treated as conversation as much as possible, often half-talked rather than sung out. As Aldonza, great Chicago belter Hollis Resnik never is allowed to cut loose vocally. The Barber's catchy introductory air is lost through an unscripted character interpretation ( by normally clarion-voiced George Keating ) without consideration of musical value. Sure it's a throw-away tune, albeit charming, and they sure throw it away. And treating The Quest ( The Impossible Dream ) as intimate conversation, rather than the show's big aria, does gain something intellectually but not as much as it loses emotionally.
As each song ends, actors resume spoken lines before the audience can applaud; another denial of musical worth. From the Greeks to opera to Shakespeare to Ibsen to August Wilson to Broadway musicals, theater has used arias, soliloquies, big speeches and big numbers to stimulate audience appreciation. These moments engage the viewers and ask them—even require them—to be involved and reactive. To deny an audience the pleasure of applauding is perverse. It forces viewers to bottle their fervor to no purpose, and it breaks the essential feedback loop between viewers and performers.
As Cervantes/Quixote, Herbert Perry has—unusually—an identical speaking and singing voice, a sonorous baritone, but his acting is somewhat wooden. Neil Friedman is an appealing Sancho and Matthew Krause, Stephen Wallem, Susie McMonagle and Harriet Nzinga Plumpp provide well-etched support.
But why do musicals—other than making business sense—if you deny what distinguishes musicals from plays? Do Pygmalion, do Man of La Mancha in its original non-musical form. It IS possible to reimagine great musicals in small scale, yet retain full musical values. Porchlight Music Theatre Chicago does it all the time.
