No I haven’t heard every musical produced on Broadway in the past decade – but I’d be surprised to find any show more ravishingly beautiful, more lyrical or sweeter than “The Light in the Piazza.” Is there a musical gene that runs in families? We don’t know for sure – but since Light’s music and lyrics are written by Adam Guettel, grandson of musical theater legend Richard Rogers (“Oklahoma,” “South Pacific,” “The King and I,” “Carousel”), he may be the best evidence yet that musical genius can be inherited.
“The Light in the Piazza” has just opened in Washington, in a production directed by Molly Smith, for Arena Stage. It hits all the right notes – but something is missing. The show ends up feeling thin. The lovely voices, the beautiful set, the strong performances don’t set off a river of tears, or even provide a fully engaging evening of theater. Why?
The problem starts with the concept. This is described as a “chamber” version of the show, with a reduced orchestra of five (electric piano, harp, violin, cello, and double bass) sitting in for the larger, original band, which featured a group of fifteen musicians with more strings, winds, some percussion, and a far lusher sound. Chamber versions of musicals have gotten popular in the past few years – and the cost savings are not the only reason. A small backing ensemble, presented on stage as part of the action or embedded in the scenery, can add an element of closeness and intimacy missing from a bigger orchestra.
But, in this case, the meaning of the show is carried not only by the pitches, harmonies, and voices – but by the sheer power of the music, including its timbre, rhythm, and loudness. With fewer instruments, some depth is palpably gone.
But what’s absent most of all in this production is a spark that would allow us to believe in and care about the relationship between the two young people, Clara and Fabrizio, who “meet cute” when her hat blows off in a Florentine square, he catches it, and the two fall hard for each other.
It’s 1953. Margaret Johnson has brought her daughter Clara to Europe with some hope that she can provide for her a better, richer life than she herself has lived.
The obstacle to that life is a mysterious and clearly mid-century malady – Clara, when she was 12, was kicked in the head by a pony – leaving her with a subtle but permanent brain injury. She is, literally, damaged goods, in the view of the day. She is a woman, but childlike, and in the eyes of her mother, unlikely to find a mate.
Despite her pessimistic outlook, Margaret slowly begins to feel hope for her daughter’s life as a woman. Maybe Clara can find a match far better than Margaret’s own loveless marriage to an unimaginative lump back home.
The show then becomes the story of how can Margaret can carry her daughter over the finish line, helping her find love and avoid disappointment with Fabrizio, and hide her daughter’s volcanic ups and downs and unsettling insecurities from Fabrizio’s family.
Guettel takes an operatic approach to his music. A number of tunes that a classical composer might call motifs, reoccur in the show and hook our subconscious with the emotional content and shape of their melodies.
Since it’s set in Italy, and features swaths of dialogue sung by Fabrizio’s family in Italian – it almost seems as if the entire subplot about his squabbling brother and his parents is inserted to emphasize the operatic aspects of the show…
But there’s no doubt, in the end, that this is an American musical in all its glory. As the couple makes a commitment to stay together forever, Guettel the lyricist spotlights the magic of Guettel the composer as the lovers sing “I think I hear the sound of wrap your arms around me” followed by phrase upon phrase of wordless song on open syllables of “ah.” What is the sound of “wrap your arms around me?” We hear it, and are ourselves in love.
But the stage picture that keeps returning to my mind is the image of Clara and Fabrizio coyly chasing each other around a hotel bed – before their first kiss. Yes, it’s a children’s game because Clara is childlike and Fabrizio naïve. But, God, if you don’t believe they really want each other as adults, deeply and sensually, then the fabulous and intimate connection this music carries in its every note is wasted. And that, in the end, is the feeling of a missed connection that I carried out of the theater.
“I Feel Pretty.” Or “Siento Hermosa.” The brilliant and problematic stroke of genius in this new production of West Side Story, seen at Washington’s National Theater, is not only to have real Latinos playing most of the Sharks, but to have them sing and speak in Spanish, as well as English.
For August Wilson’s “Gem of the Ocean” to work its magic, you’ve got to believe that the assortment of people onstage are a family. From the ageless matriarch Aunt Ester, who claims to be centuries old, to the others who protect her and help extend her influence into the community where she “washes souls” on Tuesdays… these men and women must create a believable and tightly knit world.
It’s in Act Two, when we finally realize that this show contains a powerful heart, that the production nearly redeems itself. It turns out that Aunt Ester’s secret ceremony of cleansing and renewal involves an exorcism of sorts. She conjures the history of slavery, from the first passage across the Atlantic to the last broken shackle. Aunt Ester’s magic is the ability to recall that black history, and use it to redeem souls, shooting them forward into the 20th Century and new possibilities for African American lives.
I didn’t get the second act of Stephen Sondheim’s “Into the Woods” when I saw it on Broadway in 1987. The show wrapped everything up tightly at the Act I curtain. All the fairy tales colliding on stage arrived at a happy ending and there seemed nowhere left to go. I used to tell people that the show had a great first act, but not much of an Act II.
First, the jaw dropping new space for the D.C. area’s best theater company is another kind of fairy tale. (New Signature lobby, photo Scott Suchman) That’s the one where hard work and penury are rewarded, and creativity and pluck triumph. The theater began in 1989 as part of the Arlington, Virginia arts incubator program. The loyal audience, which got used to dodging traffic along the industrial strip where the theater lived in an old bumper plating factory, now numbers more than 4500 subscribers, and the operation has an annual budget of $4.5 million, which still seems absurdly low for what they accomplish.
More to the point, the new spaces (there are two theaters now, one seating 299, and a 99-seater for smaller shows) are still “black boxes.” That is, infinitely malleable for designers who can decide where the audience, the orchestra, and the action will go in response to each script. It’s clear that Robert Perdziola, who designed the set and costumes for “Woods,” was out to give the big space (called the MAX) a real workout. And you get a sense of exploration, of every trick being pulled out and tested for effect. (Set under construction, photo Scott Suchman)
As the Baker, Daniel Cooney is earnest, sympathetic, though he seems to take a few moments to settle into his quest. It’s not long before it’s our quest, too. The witch has challenged him and his wife to a cosmic fairy tale scavenger hunt, demanding they gather a token from all the other characters: it’s the thing our story’s protagonists are least likely to want to part with (Cinderella’s golden slipper, Rapunzel’s hair). But if he can win the game, the baker and his wife will be rewarded with a child. The Baker’s Wife (April Harr Blandin) is in many ways at the center of the story. Her quest is not only to gather the tokens, but to convince her husband that she’s an equal partner in the hunt, and in their lives. Finally, late in Act One, the couple sing “It Takes Two.” They’ve figured out that way beyond biology, it takes two to make and raise a child. (photo by Carol Pratt)
In a role played on Broadway by Bernadette Peters, Eleasha Gamble as the Witch makes the switch from crone to diva, and stirs the plots to keep them simmering. (Gamble and Erin Driscoll as Rapunzel, photo, Carol Pratt) When she realizes that not even a witch can have it all — magic and beauty, feelings and a fire-shooting staff — we sympathize almost despite ourselves. After all, aren’t we supposed to fear and hide from the evil witch character in these stories? Not in the world of Sondheim and Lapine, where personal responsibility and community trump evil.
It’s exciting to arrive in New York City, hear about a Broadway show that has critics panting with excitement, and then to be able to get a ticket without any contortions, bribes or special dispensations. What’s even better is if the show lives up to its hype.
Anarchist Goldman gets to the point of why she’s turned on by Spring Awakening, the play: “Never was a more powerful indictment hurled against society, which out of sheer hypocrisy and cowardice persists that boys and girls must grow up in ignorance of their sex functions, that they must be sacrificed on the altar of stupidity and convention which taboo the enlightenment of the child in questions of such elemental importance to health and well-being.” Who knew that “taboo” was a verb, and a useful one at that?
Before the audience was even seated at our matinee, the usher pointed out a couple of understudies who were joining the group of audience members seated on each side of the stage. These performers love their jobs so much, the usher was implying, that they are willing to supply extra voices to the chorus while they continue to learn their parts.