Carousel
Playwright: Rodgers ( music ) and Hammerstein ( book and lyrics )
by Jonathan Abarbanel
The 1945 second collaboration between Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II surely is Rodgers most Mozartian score. His prolific outpouring of emotion-laden melody features the symphonic "Carousel Waltz," "If I Loved You," "When the Children Are Asleep," "Soliloquy," "What's the Use of Wond'rin?" and "You'll Never Walk Alone." The book and lyrics are Hammerstein at his best, transforming the Hungarian play, Liliom, by Ferenc Molnar, into a darkly romantic tale of flawed but redemptive love in 19th Century New England.
Many of the show's musical and dramatic glories shine in this Marriott production, but not all of them. The rather minimal scenic design by Thomas M. Ryan features a large overhead clock that doubles as the moon, an unattractive device that suggests director Gary Griffin and music director Patti Garwood let time dictate their decisions. For this is the shortest Carousel you're likely to see...under two hours and 30 minutes including intermission and curtain calls...achieved by cutting and rushing. Much of the dance music and two songs are eliminated altogether, with verses and choruses slashed from several others. In a rare misstep, Garwood rushes the tempi of several tunes, matching Griffin's forced march through the book scenes. Only in the second half of Act II does this Carousel finally slow down to relish itself for the operatic qualities that make it great.
On the other hand the voices, orchestra and Act II dream ballet are strong. Despite a few ragged notes opening night, one could not hope to assemble a better crew of singing actors than Susan Moniz and Brian Herriott as principal couple Julie Jordan and Billy Bigelow; Heidi Kettenring and Ron Raines as secondary couple Carrie Pipperidge and Enoch Snow; and Felicia P. Fields as Nettie Fowler. For the non-singing roles, Griffin has netted strong veterans Linda Kimbrough as svelte carousel owner Mrs. Mullin, David Girolmo as a sympathetic Mr. Bascombe, Joe Forbrich as baddie Jigger Craigin and dryly perfect Dale Bensen as the Starkeeper.
And tempi aside, the 10-piece orchestra is rich and full. Whether pizzicato or bowed, the cello and violin add lushness and detail to the score in David Siegel's ardent reductions, in which muted brass never overwhelms. Both orchestra and voices are superbly balanced in the sound design of Duncan Robert Edwards.
Finally, there's the Act II ballet choreography of Jennifer Kemp Lupp, using classical reference to create a romance for lithe Sasha Vargas as Louise and Alex Sanchez's muscular Carnival Boy. Carousel normally is a big dance show, but with the cuts made here, only the ballet survives nearly intact and a show-stopping pleasure it is.
At: Marriott Theatre, Lincolnshire
Phone: ( 847 ) 634-0200
Tickets $35 & $40
Runs through: Nov. 3
Henry 5
Playwright: William Shakespeare
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
There is a scene in Henry V where Princess Katherine of France beseeches her likewise French maidservant to teach her some English. But while the servant's vocabulary is technically correct, her heavily-accented pronunciation...in which "gown" inadvertently emerges as a homonym for "cunt"...provided amusement for Elizabethan and all subsequent audiences eager to derive cheap laughs at the expense of "them furriners."
Hypocrites director Sean Graney appears to have adopted this scene as a metaphor for the entire play, its theme summarized in the single sentence, "Nobody understands a word of what anybody else is saying!" This is not only true of the French and English courts, but even within the ranks of the latter's armies, where Irish, Scottish and Welsh officers are jeered by their London-bred allies. But the wages of xenophobia are war and mass destruction. And when the death count is tallied, our horror at the lives lost on both sides renders the matter of who sustained the more casualties irrelevant.
Shakespeare drives his point home not once, but twice: in a solemn scene, where the victorious Henry attempts to court the princess, winning her approval only after he struggles...awkwardly and humbly...to address her in her own language. And a comedic episode in which an English GI is soundly beaten by a Welsh ally. "You thought because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle a cudgel," the former's comrade advises him, "Henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition."
When a show's universe is modeled on the Tower of Babel, its star is the dialect coach. Elise Kauzlaric is to be commended not only for the actors' clearly distinguishable linguistic origins, but for the subtlety with which locutions initially caricatured along Danny Kaye/Sid Caesar lines gradually diminish in their exaggeration as the tone of their content grows evermore disturbing.
This is not take anything away from the 27-member ensemble, led by John Byrnes as the gung-ho Henry, all of whom sprint through their text at Graney's characteristic Road-Runner pace to bring the show home in two hours without a fallen body left on the battlefield or a significant word left unsaid.
At: The Hypocrites at the Storefront, 66 East Randolph St.
Phone: ( 312 ) 742-8497; $15
Runs through: Sept. 28
Orson's Shadow
Playwright: Austin Pendleton
BY MARY SHEN BARNIDGE
It is true that the personalities populating Orson's Shadow include such real-life luminaries as Orson Welles, Laurence Olivier, Vivien Leigh, Joan Plowright and Kenneth Tynan ( with a humble stage manager named Sean tossed in to represent the contemporary Common Man ) . And that its setting is London's Royal Court Theatre, where in 1960, internationally renowned filmmaker Welles, on the advice of internationally renowned critic Tynan, consented to direct internationally renowned actor Olivier in the British premiere of Rhinoceros, internationally renowned French playwright Eugene Ionesco's absurdist drama. It is also a fact that...as she points out, quite rightly, before getting in the last word...Plowright is the only one in this line of heavy hitters still alive today to remember the events first-hand.
It would be simple to forge a facile Capote-esque Rashomon À Clef from this clash of titans, all of whom have had their lives extensively ( and often contradictorily ) documented. But Austin Pendleton sees in this confluence of icons nothing less than a turning point in the history of the English-speaking theatre...an allegory in which aging Olivier and Leigh struggle...the former, mightily, and the latter, feebly...to impose old-style artistic methods on the new style of playmaking that youngsters Plowright and Sean embrace with ease, and Welles emerges as the tragic genius whose talents could have, but for the fickle fates, flourished in both worlds.
This might seem a weighty metaphor for an evening's entertainment, but Pendleton enlivens it with dialogue composed in the hyperarticulate idiom we ascribe to mythic heroes, rendering its humor and passion noble without ever growing cumbersome. Wundermeister David Cromer provides his characteristic sensitive direction for this revival, which reunites the cast of Steppenwolf's 2000 world premiere production...Jeff Still, John Judd, David Matthew Warren, Sarah Wellington and Lee Roy Rogers, all of whom assume the mannerisms of their personae ( Olivier's elongated vowels, Leigh's wide-eyed blink ) with uncaricatured accuracy to deliver muscular performances well beyond the range of mere mimicry. The rewards of their industry more than justify the trek to the Chicago Center For The Performing Arts on the fringes of River North ( for you cowardly playgoers, that's only eight blocks away from the Royal George ) .
At: Chicago Center for the Performing Arts, 777 N. Green St.
Phone: ( 312 ) 327-2000; $35-$39
Runs through: Oct. 3
Promise, Promises
Playwright: Neil Simon ( book ) , Burt Bacharach ( music ) , Hal David ( lyrics )
by Jonathan Abarbanel
With a cast of 14 and a five-piece orchestra, this is a big production by Off-Loop standards, especially in a space of just 150 seats. The ambition is characteristic of Porchlight Music Theatre Chicago and its director L. Walter Stearns. If Promises, Promises is less successful than usual for this admired troupe, it's not for dint of effort or daring.
Musically and dramatically, this is a difficult show for performers and audiences. The score is famous for the title song, and "I'll Never Fall in Love Again." But the remainder of the music is serviceable at best, rather than romantic or even accessibly tuneful. Rhythmically complex and jazz-based, it sounds fragmented and not particularly pretty. It might sound better as an instrumental suite, without vocal lines.
This is not to fault the cast or orchestra ( keyboard, guitar/bass, drums, trumpet and woodwinds ) , under astute musical director Eugene Dizon, with his reliably tasteful tempi and dynamics. Despite an occasional instrumental squawk and vocal flat...chiefly from Meghan Falica as Fran, the female lead, who otherwise was on top of her game...the music was authoritative but lacked warmth and joy.
Then again, the story is inherently cynical rather than joyful. Based on The Apartment, the 1960 film by Billy Wilder and I. A. L. Diamond, it's a brittle tale of sexual politics and romantic failure, wherein ambitious young Chuck Baxter allows executives to use his convenient apartment for extramarital affairs, in exchange for career advancement. The two principal men ( Baxter and his boss ) both are ethically compromised, while Fran merely is a poor judge of character and suicidal. In short, it's hard to root for anyone.
As Baxter, Mark E. Smith indulges in overkill in the super-nerd physical mannerisms and absolute spinelessness of his interpretation. There's a difference between self-effacing and slightly naïve charm, and neurotic insecurity. Smith provides the latter. Of course, responsibility is shared by director Stearns making a rare character misstep.
Among the pluses are the waltz ballad "Wanting You," sung by big-voiced Greg Teghtmeyer in an effective turn as Baxter's devious boss; the production numbers "Turkey Lurkey Time" and "A Fact Can Be A Beautiful Thing"; the comic turn by Laurie Empen as a well-dressed pick-up; and easy-going Michael Kingston as Baxter's helpful neighbor. Effective choreography by Katrina Williams Brunner utilizes movement and musical staging vs. formal dance to make the cast of non-dancers look good. Costumer Jonathan Osborne's carefully selected women's dresses provide accurate 1960s period flavor. These pluses exhibit the directorial clarity, balance and detail one expects from Porchlight.
At: Porchlight Music Theater Chicago at Theatre Building, 1222 W. Belmont
Phone: ( 773 ) 327-5252; Tickets, $23
Runs through: Nov. 3
One Man Seen
At: WNEP Theater
by Rick Reed
Improv is a tricky thing; that's part of its charm … and part of its danger. In this new show, starring "actor/writer/director" Andy Eninger and directed by Gary Ruderman, we're told that every night a new show is created from thin air, based on audience suggestion. We have, as the title implies, Eninger alone on a blank stage in the tiny confines of the WNEP Theater.
While Eninger is an engaging sort, with a ready smile, a solid speaking voice and an appealing stage presence, he doesn't require enough from his audience. The only item he asked for to create his show on opening night was a locale. One audience member quickly had an idea: Chicago's Wiener's Circle restaurant, a fast-food joint specializing in tube steaks. The problem here is that Eninger gives only a very cursory nod to this lone suggestion. He asks us to close our eyes and imagine ( in great and complete detail … a full one-quarter of the show's hour or so running time is devoted to this bit ) a theater of the imagination: one that is elegantly bare, and vast.
Eninger then proceeds to throw in a few tidbits that have something to do with the Wiener's Circle ( for example, he asks us to imagine that our seats are actually large wieners ) . Then Eninger pretty much abandons the idea of using a fast-food hot dog restaurant, one where the patrons are often drunk and the wait staff is rude. No, Eninger then goes off on a completely different tangent, creating an interesting, albeit bizarre, nautical themed restaurant with back projected fish in the windows, a clear floor under which water seems to be flowing, a manager's office complete with a bed, all of it aboard the rusting hulk of a submarine.
As I said, the detail Eninger gives to the setting is copious, and borders on tedium. Eninger then begins creating his show, which is about a 19-year-old named Sidney, who is applying for a job in the restaurant and has his first homosexual crush on the Wiener's Circle's proprietor. Other characters are, ahem, brought on board to round out the performance: a treacherous French siren named Cindy, the proprietor's brother, a waiter with a taste for exhibitionism, and a couple of would-be customers. Eninger throws this cast of characters together well, and displays a true gift for being able to deftly shift in and out of character with lightning speed.
The problem is that the story Eninger spins is not very interesting. It doesn't really say much to us as an audience ( as good improv or good character work should ) , and its portrait of behind-the-scenes love and treachery gets more and more tedious as it progresses. There are a few laughs, but for the most part, the show is the kind of affair that has one glancing at one's watch, wondering when it will be over ( even though once Eninger completes his set-up, the story itself is probably only about 45 minutes ) .
And I have to question how improvised the show really is, since it veers so wildly away from the single suggestion Eninger actually takes from the audience. Why bother? Since the setting had very little to do with the actual Wiener's Circle, or even the idea of such a place. And why does he tell us that show is set in 1998? Nothing much is ever done with that extraneous detail.
One Man Seen, in spite of an ambitious idea, is best as a commentary against improvisation, and a solid vote for theatrical preparation.
Phone: ( 773 ) 296-1100; $8
Runs through: Sept. 29
Raised in Captivity
Playwright: Nicky Silver
by Rick Reed
I once heard an interview with Janet Leigh, who confessed, after filming the infamous shower scene in Psycho, she took baths for years. In playwright Nicky Silver's dark, dark comedy, a brother and sister are reunited after their mother's death from a projectile showerhead. Forget shark-infested waters. It seems our most primal fears are centered in the shower and not a far less dangerous place, such as, say, the Gulf of Mexico.
Speaking Ring's production, ineptly directed by Chuck Karvelas, plays upon many fears in its bumpy, two-and-a-half-hour course. Fear of abandonment, fear of estrangement, fear of intimacy, fear of AIDS, fear of growing up. All this fear adds up, oddly, to a kind of tedium, because most of the show consists of set pieces, where the characters mouth Silver's philosophies on a variety of topics, rather than talking to each other. Black comedy or no, Silver should have known that we need some drama to make an interesting play. There's little of that here.
The story is told in episodic jumps and deals mainly with Sebastian ( Michael Brownlee in a nicely modulated, if a bit dull, performance ) and Bernadette ( Jennifer Leavitt, who replaces nuance and subtlety with shameless mugging and scenery chewing ) , twins who are dealing with the loss of their mother and the memories she leaves behind, in different ways. Sebastian is a blocked writer, on the brink of madness, and Bernadette is a bright little bauble of empty-headed loquaciousness. It's no wonder they're estranged. The people they interact with on their journey to a bittersweet reunion are all damaged, but in different ways. Sebastian's therapist, Hilary ( Kristine Karvelas, whose performance is so over the top and strident, we almost immediately lose sympathy with the character ) loses touch with reality when Sebastian leaves her, wandering around in rags after blinding herself with a screwdriver. Bernadette's husband, Kip ( Kevin Gladish, who seems to know a thing or two about restraint and naturalism ) , a dentist turned artist, paints blank white canvases. And the object of Sebastian's obsession, his incarcerated murderer, Dylan ( Sean Patrick Leonard ) harbors homicidal and homophobic impulses beneath his correspondence.
Unfortunately, the playwright forgot to give us someone to care about in this motley crew of misfits. Although he has endowed each of his characters with bizarre attributes, after the shock wears off, the feeling of "so what?" creeps in, making Raised in Captivity an exercise in absurdist tedium.
Even in satire, even in dark humor, we need a reason to care. This play, and this production, fails to supply the reason.
At: Chicago Cultural Center, studio
Phone: ( 312 ) 458-9374; $12
Runs through: Oct. 12
