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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 17, 2007)
1 Simon Callow and Judi Dench redeemed Merry Wives of Windsor. bitter strife of the 1984 miners strikes, the boy’s artistic struggle creates both upheaval and intense love and support in his family. The result is a work of great hope and understanding. The film was made to be a musical, and it has found sympathet ic and powerful interpreters. Elton John and Lee Hall have created a score that manages to be both pop-catchy and simply moving, and Daldry has created a production that has the requisite musical theater glitz yet also manages to be even more emotionally truthful and heartbreaking than the original film. The cast is simply amazing and is centered on the multiple casting of the two main child charac ters—1 imagine all of them are super, but I cannot imagine anyone could surpass the remarkable work of Leon Cooke, who was an incredible Billy the night I caught the show. Utterly sincere and natu ral in his acting and unleashing a torrent of passion ate, technically brilliant and emotionally devastat ing movement in his many dance solos (the onstage Billy really dances, unlike Jamie Bell’s carefully edit ed work in the film), Cooke gave a performance that was simply unforgettable. On the stages of London’s two main theatrical institutions, the Royal Shakespeare Company and the Royal National Theatre, things remained as impressive as usual—with a few reservations. I was able to catch a number of productions in Stratford; some work was superb, some less so. The closing production at the venerable Royal Shakes peare Theatre (before its multimillion-dollar reno vation) was a silly new musical version of the silly Merry Wives of Windsor. Featuring a forgettable set of songs (that hoedown title song was one I would happily never want to hear again) and an over wrought, sometimes downright stupid staging, it also included a lovely, delicately funny Mistress Quickly from the peerless Judi Dench and a mon strously funny Falstaff from Simon Callow. Stratford’s brand new Courtyard theater (a fan tastically theatrical space) played host to two major events: artistic director Michael Boyd’s cycle of the complete history plays and former artistic director Trevor Nunn’s rep pairing of King Lear and Chekhov’s The Seagull. I was only able to catch Boyd’s Richard III, but it made me desperate to see the rest of the cycle. Boyd is a clever, visionary direc tor, and his Richard—set in a decrepit contemporary world of mobile phones, military bombast and rotting metal—was a nightmare of evil centered round the dangerous, overgrown baby petulance and murderous bile of Jonathan Slinger in the title role. Nunn’s double bill was less successful. His King Lear— featuring a somewhat restrained and moving lan McKellan as the mad monarch—was an overblown, shamelessly theatrical vision of the work. No hare-stage, Beckett introspection for Mr. Nunn— here were masses of incense, sumptuous Hapsburg-era gowns and thunderous organ music against a set of sweeping red velvet drapes and crystal chandeliers that were spectacularly destroyed in a stage-drench ing storm scene. It was Shakespeare as grand opera, and it was a fun, if unsubtle or layered, evening. The other half of the rep was another matter entirely. Chekhov’s Seagull is not really a great play to do in rep with the same cast, director and design team with one of Shakespeare’s most epically diffi cult works. The lack of attention was evident in this lugubrious, tedious production. Many of the less-experienced members of the Lear cast had lead ing roles here and were simply not up to the chal lenge. The rest of the cast wasn’t helpful, either— even the usually marvelous Frances Barber Gay Active Senior Retirement Community Gay Owned & Operated Rainbow Vista 1350 West Powell Blvd, Gresham, Oregon www.rainbowvista.com (888) 470-0130 managed to turn Arkadina into a bipolar bitch alternately shrill and lifeless. Best was the cynical Masha of Monica Dolan (whose vicious Regan was also a highlight of Lear— who could forget seeing her manic response to Gloucester’s blinding— jumping up and down and squealing like a little girl who had been promised torture-pom for her birthday and got it). Even the mealy designs look exactly like what you’d get if you asked a designer to do The Seagull in rep with a gigantic production of King Lear— three birch trees and some stock furniture stuck in front of a badly painted backdrop. Maybe it will all improve in time—the two shows set off on a world tour this fall, including many Daniel Radcliffe exposed his magic wand in Equus. stops in the United States. ing tribute from Kander to his writing partner), great ack home on the Great White Way, there were designs and a splendid cast of Broadway vets led by some dismal failures. The magical teaming of two the brassy Debra Monk and the gentle elegance of theatrical legends—Angela Lansbury and Marion David Hyde Pierce. Pierce, who deservedly won Seldes—managed to be a pathetic disappointment a Tony for this performance, is a model of wit, sincer because of the inane inadequacy of the wretched ity and charm—three things sadly missing from the new play, Deuce, that Terrence McNally had majority of contemporary artists. anchored them to. Another baffling waste of talent Lastly there was Spring Awakening, this year’s was on view in Lovemusik, a horrid bio-musical of mega-hit and the darling of critics and people who Kurt Weill and Lotte Lenya that was a low point in were tired of going back to see Wicked. While there the remarkable careers of all those attached to it. was much to admire about this show—the truly John Doyle turned his deconstructivist laser on amazing cast of brazen, young nonstars throwing Sondheim’s acidic cocktail musical Company with themselves into the show with delirious abandon out much illuminating effect. Raul Esparza was a lac and gorgeous voices, the eccentric acrobatic chore erating presence as the confused Bobby, but nothing ography of Bill T. Jones, Michael Mayer’s cogent, else worked, including the cast-as-orchestra Doyle mobile direction—it was still overhyped to the point conceit, which here just looked bizarre with sax and of inanity. The majority of the New York critics tuba players in chic haute couture. seemed to have suffered a collective bout of artistic There was some enjoyment to be had from retro amnesia calling this cool, if derivative, show ground delights. Two revivals gave much pleasure: The breaking and unique. Pop-rock musicals have been classic World War 1 drama Journey’s End was given around for a long time, rock bands have been on a powerful account by director David Grindly and stage for at least 20 years, people have worn both a marvelous ensemble cast, and the old-fashioned period costumes and held hand mikes many rimes but lovely musical 110 in the Shade was given new before, and since when has Duncan Shiek's aging luster by the incandescent Audra McDonald, one adolescent angst been a cutting-edge pop sound? of Broadway’s greatest treasures. Yes, the first act ends with simulated sex, and the The new retro-musical Curtains (sadly the last 11 o’clock number is called “Totally Fucked”—but an work by the electric team of Kander and Ebb— overwhelming, groundbreaking, utterly original show lyricist Fred Ebb passed away during its creation) was this doesn’t make. Spring Awakening is a fun, exciting the best new-musical-that-kxrked-like-it-had-been- and beautifully performed piece of musical theater, but it isn’t the second coming. Wake up. © written-in-1956 of the year. A delightful, delicately B self-parodying evening of musical comedy, it was great fun blessed with a sassy, catchy score (including one gorgeous new ballad, “1 Miss the Music," a touch- JON K retzu is associate artistic director of Artists Repertory Theatre in Portland.
