How Do You Solve a Problem Like Julie Jordan?

Review: Carousel

Jessie Mueller and Joshua Henry as Julie Jordan and Billy Bigelow in Carousel.

It is said that of all Richard Rodger's collaborations with Oscar Hammerstein, Carousel contained the composer's favorite score. The classic musical certainly has an abundance of soaring melodies, and it greatly develops the now ubiquitous concept of the extended musical scene, something that didn't really exist prior to the famed duo's groundbreaking work. And while the show certainly has artistic and historical merit, the extremely well done revival now on Broadway also fully unmasks the inherent problems in the script, the most glaring of which is the domestic violence issue embedded in the central romance.

*Note: If you aren't familiar with Carousel - I'd never seen it prior to this production - there are spoilers coming. There's no way to discuss the show in the context of 2018 without getting into them.*

There's no way around it: Carousel as written is inherently problematic. Carnival barker Billy Bigelow falls in love with and marries a young mill worker named Julie Jordan, who abandons her job just to get the chance to know Billy better (the mill Julie works at insists their workers maintain a "good girl" image which doesn't allow for late night talks with strange men). Then, in a scene we never see, Billy hits Julie; the town characterizes it as continual abuse, although Billy insists that it was just one time. But the frequency of the abuse doesn't really matter, because either way Julie insists there's nothing wrong with it despite the protestations of literally everyone she knows.

Note Julie never *denies* being hit. She claims people don't know Billy like she does, and that she understands why he hit her. But Julie - and by extension, Rodgers and Hammerstein - never verbalizes those reasons to the other characters or to the audience. In fact, her second act solo "What's the Use of Wond'rin," the song specifically designed to address this concern, essentially boils down to Julie saying she loves him, so what else can she do but accept the situation? And late in the show, when a now dead Billy is asked by a heavenly character called The Starkeeper if he regrets hitting Julie, Billy defiantly responds, "I regret nothing."

Now, obviously Carousel was written during a different time that had different attitudes about what was and wasn't acceptable behavior in a marriage. So while it is disappointing that the fairly progressive Rodgers and Hammerstein - who wrote the anti-racism creed "You Have to Be Carefully Taught" for South Pacific and centered The King & I around a strong, capable female protagonist - created such a problematic portrayal of the abused-but-we-don't-know-how-much Julie, it isn't entirely surprising.

What is surprising is that Tony-winner Jessie Mueller, who can pack a wealth of conflicting emotions into the space between her lines, isn't able to find some way to give more insight or depth to Julie and help us better understand her actions. Given that her last Broadway outing Waitress focused on a character in a similar situation, but with much more complexity and agency, it is downright baffling that Mueller chose this as her immediate follow-up.

Perhaps this disconnect explains why Mueller, normally a firebrand who you cannot take your eyes off of, feels oddly subdued throughout. She sings the role beautifully - is there nothing her mercurial voice cannot do? - and acts it as well as anyone can be expected to, which leaves no choice but to conclude the problem is with the material and not the performer. Put bluntly, Julie just isn't a very compelling character, especially contrasted with the other women in the show.

Julie's best friend Carrie Pipperidge manages to do what society expects of her in a way that makes it clear she's making a choice and not just resigned to whatever comes her way, and she is the first to express concern about Julie's home life. Lindsey Mendez is a delight in the role, beautifully adapting her vocal pyrotechnics to the more legit stylings of Carousel's score and landing the evening's biggest laughs. And opera superstar Renee Fleming is a revelation as the matronly Nettie Fowler; her rendition of the show's big anthem "You'll Never Walk Alone" is a masterclass in dramatic song interpretation, musically impeccable while still feeling spontaneous and unforced.

And despite the problems with his character, it's undeniable that two-time Tony-nominee Joshua Henry has never been better than as carnival barker Billy Bigelow. His natural charisma makes it easy to see why Julie or anyone else would be drawn to him, and his performance makes it clear that his gruff exterior is masking a deep seated inner pain and self loathing. He also sings like a dream, making a famously taxing role seem easy and imbuing every song with a freshness that makes the show's well worn ballads sound new. His "Soliloquy," the seven minute monologue in song that ends the first act, is positively thrilling, his rendition easily among the best there's ever been. Henry's performance is the stuff Tony wins are made of, and a strong argument for the merits of color conscious casting. (The production never overtly references Henry's race, but it subtly informs his interactions.)

Director Jack O'Brien's thoughtful staging and direction is exactly what you hope for when one of these Golden Age musicals is revived. The show feels fresh and alive, almost like new, honoring the material without ever holding it so sacred that it feels like a museum piece. O'Brien wisely avoids any impulse to dress the material up with modern bells and whistles, letting the actors and musicians carry the day. The producers have also wisely employed NY City Ballet choreographer-in-residence Justin Peck to handle the musical's abundant dance numbers, including the patented Rodgers and Hammerstein dream ballet in the second act. Peck's choreography has a complexity and artistic maturity rarely seen on the Broadway stage, and is danced to perfection by the nimble men and women of the ensemble (who also sound fantastic during the group choral numbers).

From a physical standpoint, this Carousel is often breathtaking thanks to the lavish yet unfussy design work. Ann Roth's costumes have an attention to detail and carefully considered color palette that make them look like a million bucks, even though they are largely everyday casual wear. Santo Loquasto's stunning set wonderfully evokes a sleepy seaside town, with his stellar backdrops and multilayered sets giving the production an astonishing amount of visual depth. His take on the titular carousel is particularly striking, an image that will stay with you long after the final curtain falls. Both sets and costumes are gorgeously lit by Brian MacDevitt, whose sophisticated work greatly helps in the evocation of the story's many different moods.

All of the talent and care that has gone into this Carousel makes the show's dubious worldview that much more upsetting. These are clearly smart artists who are doing their absolute best to do justice to this show, but they have not been able to solve the central conundrum of getting us to understand and empathize with such a problematic relationship. The lead female role is basically a doormat, accepting and excusing any negative behavior that comes her way in the name of love, and putting that kind of message into the world in 2018 seems questionable at best. Rather than "fixing" Carousel for future generations, this production may have killed it once and for all by exposing it as inexorably linked to a bygone and now unacceptable social attitude. If O'Brien and company aren't able to satisfactorily address Carousel's problems, then who can?

Something Truly Wonderful

Review: The King and I

Ken Watanabe and Kelli O'Hara are exquisitely matched in Bartlett Sher's knockout revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's The King and I.

There's no such thing as perfection, especially in a subjective artistic medium like the theatre. That said, Lincoln Center's ravishing, radiant, and visually stunning revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's The King and I is so close to an ideal evening at the theatre that for all intents and purposes it is exactly that. Perhaps even more than the non-profit's critically lauded South Pacific several seasons back, this revival removes all artifice, pretention, and preexisting baggage from a well worn show and reveals it anew as an emotionally complex, culturally relevant and deeply moving piece of musical writing from one of the greatest creative teams to ever live.

Following the pitch perfect overture (played by a 29 piece orchestra under the baton of Ted Sperling), we are whisked away to the beautifully exotic kingdom of Siam circa 1862. On the prow of an incoming ship we meet British schoolteacher Anna Leonowens (a luminous Kelli O'Hara), who has come to this faraway land with her son to educate the King of Siam's many children and wives in the ways of the West. The imposing and often temperamental King (a gleeful Ken Watanabe, in his Broadway debut) has more than a few clashes with the strong-willed Misses Anna as the show turns an intelligent and quizzical eye towards issues of imperialism, gender politics, and the qualifications of a good ruler. There are multiple subplots to round out the evening, but the central relationship of Anna and the King is the musical's primary concern, and it is one of the most richly textured and nuanced in the entire musical theatre cannon.

Despite the show's age, nothing about director Barlett Sher's superlative staging feels dusty or antiquated; indeed, many of Hammerstein's observations about gender politics and race relations remain relevant even today. Sher unearths the many layers in both the book scenes and the songs in such a way that everything feels necessary, and every line, lyric, and piece of incidental musical adds to our overall understanding of the characters and the plot. Unlike many productions of Rodgers and Hammerstein's work, there is nothing precious or twee about this revival, which treats the work with the same seriousness as a great drama without shying away from the piece's inherent humor and charm. And moreso than almost any other director working today, Sher knows how to make excellent use of the cavernous Vivian Beaumont Theatre's thrust stage, creating a neverending series of beautiful stage pictures that seamlessly ensure a good view of the action no matter where you're sitting (Christopher Gattelli's choreography is equally entrancing).

Once again, Sher guides his frequent collaborator Kelli O'Hara to a performance of startling depth and emotional honesty. Rodgers and Hammerstein's score doesn't allow O'Hara to show the full range of her gorgeous soprano, but that doesn't prevent her from sounding absolutely stunning on the score's many standards. When she wraps her golden tones around "Getting to Know You," it's every bit as warm and inviting as you'd hope, and her rendition of "Hello, Young Lovers" is positively captivating. But it's not just O'Hara's nearly unequalled vocal technique that makes her a joy to watch; her thoughtful, textured delivery of the lyrics makes these much sung songs sound like entirely new, spur of the moment thoughts (a quality best showcased during her superlative "Shall I Tell You What I Think of You?" towards the end of the first act). O'Hara makes you believe every syllable of what she's saying, and she imbues every gesture with a multitude of meaning in yet another stellar addition to her ever growing resume.

Her performance is matched every step of the way by an incredibly affecting and genuinely exciting star turn from Ken Watanabe as the King. Watanabe doesn't completely throw out the template created by Tony-winner Yul Brynner, but by the end of the show he has created a take on the commanding monarch that is wholly his own and just as effective. His King exhibits a palpable joy when learning more about his charge and her culture, and both the actor and the character clearly relish their frequent, playful sparring with O'Hara's Anna. Yet the immensely likable Watanabe is also capable of producing an intense anger that strikes fear in his subjects' hearts, a juxtaposition that explains why most of the characters seem both terrified and fiercely protective of their King. Most importantly, Watanabe has excellent chemistry with O'Hara, which pays off in spades during their exhilarating "Shall We Dance?"

The supporting cast is just as capable as the leads, often while being given decidedly less to work with. Ruthie Ann Miles is superb as the King's primary wife Lady Thiang, showing exquisite depth and nuance as she regally slinks across the stage and turning "Something Wonderful" into a legitimate showstopper. As the impetuous Tuptim, a young girl given to the King as a gift despite longing for another, Ashley Park displays beautiful vocal control during her soaring ballads and also grounds the particularly harrowing confrontation between herself and the King during the show's climax. Jake Lucas brings surprising honesty to his performance as Anna's son Louis, and shares a particularly lovely duet with Jon Viktor Corpuz's Prince Chulalongkorn, the King's eldest son and heir.

For the physical production, Lincoln Center and the show's design team have pulled out all the stops, creating one of the most unabashedly gorgeous musicals of the past decade. Michael Yeargan's gasp-inducing set is a continual delight, its rich color palette and thoughtfully detailed scenic units combining to create a world that is at once mystifying and intoxicating. Catherine Zuber's costumes are a show unto themselves, resplendent jewel toned creations that celebrate the musical's Asian setting without feeling tacky or disrespectful. There is a beautiful movement to all of her pieces, but most especially the showstopping dress O'Hara dons during the famous "Shall We Dance" waltz; watching the iridescent purple gown twirl about the massive stage is one of the most stunning and memorable images of the season. And everything is beautifully lit by Donald Holder in bold colors and patterns that make the already expansive set appear even larger than it actually is.

The King and I is must see theatre, the kind of event show that only comes along once in a great while. Everything about this revival sparkles, from Sher's direction to the uniformly fantastic performances to the absolutely breathtaking production design. It is difficult to imagine a more accomplished production of this oft-produced show, and this version is sure to stay with you long after the final ultimo emanates from the Beaumont's orchestra pit. It is something wonderful indeed.

A Fairytale Fractured Beyond All Repair

Review:  Cinderella

 

Hello, Young Lovers:  Santino Fontana and Laura Osnes enjoy a waltz is the Broadway revival of Cinderella

When the lights come up on Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella, we are treated to a silent tableau of the titular heroine gathering food in an idyllic, storybook forest.  A minute later, the Prince (here named Topher for reasons neither apparent nor consequential) and his footmen are slaying a tree giant, and the juxtaposition of those two images tells you everything you need to know about this rendition of the classic fairy tale.  Heavily rewritten in an attempt to be more hip, modern, and equally accessible to boys and girls, this new version of Cinderella completely eschews the old-fashioned charm that has allowed the property to endure for more than fifty years.

To be fair, the hour-long television musical Rodgers and Hammerstein originally wrote for a young Julie Andrews is too slight a story to be transferred directly to the stage, and padding it out with new plot points and a few of the duo’s trunk songs is not an inherently bad idea.  But surely the producers could have found someone better suited to the task than playwright Douglas Carter Beane, whose relentless snark is in complete opposition to the exceedingly earnest tone Rodgers and Hammerstein are known for.  Making matters worse is the fact that Beane is just god-awful at his job, as anyone who suffered through his odious work on Sister Act and Lysistrata Jones can attest. 

Possessing zero talent for characterization and a rudimentary at best understanding of proper story structure, Beane fills his musical librettos with an unending series of “punch lines” that sound like the improvisations of mildly amusing teenagers.  In Cinderella, this includes having characters exclaim “Seriously?” after being told to execute any unsavory task and commenting on how the placement of certain props makes “zero design sense.”  Beane and director Mark Brokaw have also saddled the show with a blatantly political subplot about bringing democracy to the Prince’s fairytale kingdom, a story thread so clumsily executed that it makes South Pacific’s simplistic observations about race seem like a graduate-level thesis in comparison.  By the time the people of the royal court decide to amuse themselves by trading insults in a game called Ridicule, you can’t help but laugh at how completely Beane has missed the mark, and hope that poor Rodgers and Hammerstein aren’t aware of what’s been done to their show.

It is physically painful to watch genuinely talented performers like Laura Osnes, Victoria Clark and Harriet Harris struggle to make such atrocious material work.  In many ways, Osnes is ideally cast as Cinderella – or Ella, as the show obnoxiously insists upon calling her – and when allowed to embrace the material’s traditionalist leanings she is a veritable delight.  Winsome without descending into blandness, Osnes and her lovely soprano are the perfect embodiment of the fairy tale princess, and watching her struggle to come up with an in-character reaction the sarcasm that permeates this show is almost depressing.  As she continues her ascent to leading lady status, one hopes that Osnes’ next show will finally combine the critical and commercial success this hard working actress so desperately deserves.

As her Prince Charming, Santino Fontana is exactly that, even if Beane’s writing forces him to play up the character’s buffoonish qualities.  Fontana seems appropriately lost as a young man struggling to find himself, and his infatuation with Cinderella is entirely believable.  Victoria Clark is positively enchanting as the Fairy Godmother, and her second act solo “There’s Music in You” is sung in the deeply felt, full-bodied manner befitting a majestic Rodgers and Hammerstein ballad.  (It should be noted that musical adaptor David Chase has flawlessly integrated the trunk songs and extended interludes with the existing score, creating one of the few instances where this production’s additions feeling like a natural extension of the source material.)

The villains of the piece are more problematic, due in no small part to Beane’s inability to decide whether they are meant to be truly menacing or mere comic relief.  As the wicked Stepmother, Tony-winner Harriet Harris spends two thirds of the evening spouting off one liners before being required to suddenly switch to genuine maliciousness and then again to heartfelt repentance, a horribly rushed progression no actress could make convincing.  In fact, given the wretchedness of her material Harris comes off remarkably well, with is more than can be said for Peter Bartlett as the devious royal advisor.  Ann Harada struggles mightily as the less attractive of the two stepsisters, but is let down by the decision to make her partner-in-crime Marla Mindelle noticeably less antagonistic than is usual.  Harada is essentially playing both sides of a comedic duo, and although she has some great moments the performance is ultimately ineffective.

Despite all the changes, there are times when this Cinderella actually begins to resemble the traditional version of the story, and when it does the show comes alive.  Cinderella’s onstage transformation and subsequent carriage ride to the ball is every bit as grand and enchanting as you could want, confirming the suspicion that we could have had a fantastic production if the creative team had merely trusted their source material.  Equally enthralling is the sweeping ballad “Ten Minutes Ago” and its accompanying waltz, which recreates old school Broadway spectacle in a most ravishing fashion.  Unfortunately, every time the show seems to get back on course Beane steers it in the complete opposite direction, to the point where he even changes the one thing literally everyone knows about Cinderella (let’s just say that her famed glass slipper makes a rather circuitous journey into the Prince’s possession).

From a production standpoint, this is definitely the Broadway version of Cinderella, with lavish sets and costumes that strike the proper balance between timelessness and modernity.  William Ivey Long’s costumes are gorgeous, and the multiple onstage transformations he creates are literally jaw-dropping.  Anna Louizos’s set design looks like a storybook illustration come to life, and is expertly highlighted by Kenneth Posner’s rich lighting design.  The twenty-person orchestra sounds just as sumptuous as the rest of the production looks, rounding out the technical excellence on all sides.

Ultimately, there is enough merit to this revamped Cinderella that it cannot be completely written off.  The production is visually striking and features some highly talented performers doing valiant work against insurmountable odds.  But unfortunately Douglas Carter Beane’s book is so inherently wrong, in both conception and execution, that the show cannot overcome it.  The production fails as both an old-fashioned musical romp and as an attempt at a clever reinvention of or commentary on the fairytale genre.  Rarely have I been so desperate for the characters in a musical to shut up and start singing, and if I never have to endure another one of Beane’s terrible librettos it will be too soon.  When this Cinderella vanishes at the stroke of midnight, perhaps we should simply let her leave.