Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Movie Magic, Lost in Translation


Review:  Chaplin

Rob McClure, refusing to let subpar material ruin his big break on Broadway.
 

You want to like Chaplin, the new musical by composer/lyricist Christopher Curtis and bookwriter Thomas Meehan that’s currently playing the Barrymore Theatre.  The life of silent film star Charlie Chaplin certainly features enough drama to sustain a full-length musical, and the show benefits from several strong performances by a mix of Broadway veterans and relative newcomers.  Unfortunately, an abundance of structural missteps and ill-advised story tangents prevent the show from achieving its full potential, and the resulting work is a frustratingly muddled mess of unfulfilled promise.
Obviously, dramatizing anyone’s life brings with it inherent problems, as real life seldom occurs in steadily rising dramatic action that leads to a clean and tidy end.  Like many showbiz stories, Chaplin does a reasonably good job of chronicling Chaplin’s rise to fame in turn of the century Hollywood, utilizing his troubled relationship with his mentally-ill mother to provide dramatic tension during his virtually unencumbered ascension to superstardom.  But the second act, which chronicles Chaplin’s tumultuous personal life and eventual fall from grace, feels unfocused and haphazard.  In Meehan and Curtis’ libretto, one scene rarely flows smoothly into the next, and coherent character motivations are practically nonexistent.
The show also suffers from an uncertain tone, unsuccessfully attempting to split the difference between low comedy and high drama.  Even the relatively conflict-free first act fails to create many laughs, a sin that seems almost unforgivable in a show whose central figure is one of the all-time masters of slapstick.  Things are generally played straight and very serious, but the authors stop themselves from fully committing to the inherent drama of Chaplin’s life by glossing over its more unpleasant aspects.  The star’s multiple marriages to underage woman aren’t explored in any detail, and his demanding and somewhat unethical directorial methods are given only a cursory mention.  Even Chaplin’s relationship with his mother seems underdeveloped, as he spends a majority of the show avoiding her and we are mostly told rather than shown that her condition is getting worse.
Christopher Curtis’ score also underwhelms, with his sometimes interesting melodic ideas rarely coalescing into fully formed songs.  The only piece of music that feels complete is the jazzy “All Falls Down,” written for a vindictive gossip columnist named Hedda Hopper who has made it her life’s mission to ruin Chaplin’s good name.  And even that song is difficult to enjoy because it comes out of nowhere, forcing the audience to spend much of its duration wondering why a woman who has never even met Chaplin suddenly hates him so much (it apparently has something to do with his refusal to grant her an interview).
Yet the hardworking cast takes this subpar material and performs it with such earnestness and conviction that they almost succeed in making it sing.  In the title role, Rob McClure gives such a tour de force performance that you don’t question for a second why the producers entrusted an unknown with such an enormous part.  McClure has clearly spent hours researching the Little Tramp and perfecting his mannerisms, which pays off in his expert handling of the large amounts of physical comedy and recreation of some of Chaplin’s most famous bits.  He performs all of his numbers with gusto, and imbues the eleven o’clock ballad “Where Are All the People?” with a dramatic weight it honestly doesn’t deserve (like “All Falls Down,” the song comes out of nowhere).  McClure paints as complete a picture of Chaplin as the material will allow, and uses his buoyant, assured performance to cover up many of the writing’s flaws.
Past Tony-nominee Christiane Noll does well with the underwritten role of Chaplin’s mother, cramming one of the biggest character arcs of the night into her limited stage time.  Jenn Colella’s hardboiled Hedda Harper is such a strong presence you end up wishing there was more of her, which would have the added benefit of fleshing out one of the story’s key conflicts.  And as Oona O’Neil, Chaplin’s fourth and final wife, Erin Mackey imbues her character with enough charm and quiet strength that you can almost forgive the fact that she doesn’t appear until midway through Act II, despite being the show’s primary love interest.
Finally, special mention must be made of Zachary Unger, the child actor who plays the young Charlie Chaplin.  Displaying a startling amount of maturity and emotional honesty, Unger could give many adult actors lessons in sincerity.  When he breaks into tears as Chaplin’s mother is taken away to the mental hospital, he’s so convincing you want to run onstage and give him an enormous hug.  (The fact that Unger is cute as a button doesn’t hurt, either.)
From a production standpoint, director/choreographer Warren Carlyle does a serviceable job, although you get the impression that his desire for more dancing hinders the show more than it helps.  Particularly egregious is Carlyle’s decision to end Act I with a chorus of dancing Chaplin lookalikes, a decision so out of left field that the audience will spend most of intermission wondering what he was thinking.  The design team’s creative conceit to construct the sets and costumes using only shades of black and white is a neat idea that isn’t fully realized, and results in the show appearing too dark on more than one occasion.  Meanwhile, the ten person orchestra is in desperate need of a few extra players to provide the show with a richer and fuller sound.
Thanks to the hardworking cast, Chaplin has all-too-brief moments of entertainment and genuine dramatic interest.  Because the performers are so good, you really wish the musical they appear in gave them better material to work with.  The idea of a show about Charlie Chaplin remains an intriguing notion, and one hopes that eventually a great version of the story makes its way to Broadway.  For now, we will have to settle for this half-baked concoction instead.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Why Legit Vocal Training Matters

Alice Ripley: fierce, fierce actress.  But that voice of hers is a little wonky lately.

Happy fall, everyone!  Now that the weather here in NYC has gotten a little brisk, it’s time to end my impromptu summer vacation from blogging and get back to talking about the theatre.
This is a blog I meant to write a few weeks ago, when I stumbled across this video on Playbill.com.  In the midst of interviewing/goofing off with Broadway’s Stephanie J. Block, musician and internet personality Seth Rudetsky asks Block how familiar she was with the score of her next gig, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, before being cast in the show.  Block admits she’d only heard the soprano ballad “Moonfall,” and sings a few bars before Rudetsky cuts her off and jokingly tells her to “never sing like that again.”
The joke is that Block actually sounds fabulous singing with a legit soprano, but should only belt because that is what she is known for (having been a high profile replacement for roles like Elphaba and Reno Sweeney).  Sky high belting is what’s currently in vogue on Broadway, and Block bemoans the fact that she never gets to sing “Moonfall” at auditions because no one wants to hear her do it.  And the implications of that statement worry me.
If you are an up and coming actor who wants to be on Broadway these days, you have to be able to belt.  Contemporary musicals are almost invariably written as marathon belting sessions, and many classic shows are revived with a more pop-influenced sound.  This isn’t bad in and of itself, and I enjoy a good belt show as much as the next guy.  I lost track of how many times I listened to Rent when it first came out, and one of my biggest complaints about the current Evita revival is the distinct lack of belting done by its leading lady.  BUT legit singing is equally valuable, and should be a major part of any young singer’s training.
When someone learns how to sing in the classical/legit style, two of the most important things they learn are proper placement and breath support.  These form the basis of healthy singing in any genre, and are essential to anyone who wants to have a long career in the industry.  Without them, it is simply a matter of time before nodules or some other type of vocal damage renders a singer unable to manage the demands of doing eight shows a week. 
I would argue the reason someone like Block is able to consistently belt into the rafters is because her background in legit singing taught her proper placement and healthy vocal production.  These principles can be adapted into the contemporary/pop musical vein, but are much easier to practice and learn in classical singing.  The problem with belting and pop-influenced scores is that many of the hallmarks of the style can be achieved through strain and poor technique.  This may work in the short term, but over time it will absolutely destroy someone’s voice (see: Side Show Alice Ripley vs. Next to Normal Alice Ripley, or to use an example from pop music Songs in A Minor Alicia Keys vs. Element of Freedom Alicia Keys).
But since nobody is interested in hearing legit singing, it isn’t being taught as much.  We won’t have proof for another ten years or so, but I fear this is producing a generation of Broadway singers who are using poor technique to wail to the rafters now, but will be unable to sing much of anything by their mid-30s due to all the vocal damage they’ve sustained.  Resilient young voices can handle a fair amount of poor technique, but it will always catch up with you in the end.  Unless something changes, we’re looking at a future where catching that Tony-nominated performance will be a matter of luck, because the actor giving it doesn’t have the vocal stamina to do eight shows a week.  And nobody wants that