By Harry Haun
10 Nov 2006

As the comically venal Thenardier, Gary Beach would say bring on the black—quite a color contrast from his usual frou-frou (like his Tony-winning cross-dressing Hitler in The Producers or his Tony-nominated dragstrip madonna in La Cage aux Folles).

"That's what I like about this role," admitted Beach. "When Cameron called me about doing it, he said, 'I think it's time maybe you put your frocks back in the closet and let New York see you as Thenardier.' It sounded like a good idea. I'll never forget at the first preview I came walking out, and the audience recognized me and started applauding. I thought it was because they were happy to see me in men's clothes. I dunno. Ask Lee Roy [Reams, who has taken over Beach's begowned duties in The Producers]."

Actually, Beach played Thenardier before—18 years ago—in a Los Angeles production and met his life partner, Jeff Barnett, who was a swing in that show. And Jenny Galloway, whom Mackintosh brought over from England with the permission of Actors' Equity Association ("pursuant to an exchange program between American Equity and UK Equity," as Playbill duly notes), had prior Madame Thenardier experience 14 years ago.

"But," said Beach, "we sorta don't do any of the old stuff. We just make up our new stuff and make it fun for us. I think we're a very different Madame and Monsieur Thenardier than any others I've ever heard about. We're a French Bonnie and Clyde—in it together."

The actors playing Valjean, Javert and the two Thenardiers are the only ones who are not multi-cast. Everybody else is playing the populous of Paris. Justin Bohon, who won a 2002 Theatre World Award and Astaire Award for Broadway's last Oklahoma! (he put a Will Rogers rope-spin on Will Parker), said he averages a new character every scene he is in—roughly 15, and he doesn't even get to use any rope in his factory-worker scene.

Aaron Lazar is a judge in a trial scene before he turns into Big Man on the Barricades, Enjolras, and, as an actor, he has learned to use the quick chaos it takes him to get there.

"The nature of the costume change," he said, "is just enough time to get the clothes off, get the makeup done, screw around with the hair a little bit and then put the jacket on and go — so there is no actory prep time, so to speak, for that first Paris scene. I have a little bit more time right after that scene before the cafe scene. It's one of those things that you thank God for previews because you realize that if you don't go out there with the adrenaline and juice that you need for that scene, it's flat and you're behind. That's what this whole show's about. The show moves so fast. Every moment you have to step on stage and be right in that moment, or you're behind and then that moment is gone."

But he has learned—the hard way—to be careful where he steps. "I fell off those barricades last week, man. I got a bruise the size of my entire left leg. That was a wake-up call, especially coming back from that day after the day off. Your feet are a little shaky, and the barricade is tricky. You gotta really be on your toes. It's a dangerous set, and you got 30 people out there with guns and smoke. But that's just another element. It's a playground."

Not surprisingly, his favorite moment is issuing the musical's robust and stirring call to arms, "Do You Hear the People Sing?"—an anthem with relevance and resonance "especially now in the times we live in. I was so excited to sink my teeth into this character, from the moment I got cast, because of how passionate I am about politics.

"What I wanted to do from the get-go was not be one of those G.I. Joe Enjolrases. You got this massive barricade set and you got the music and you got the guns and you got the smoke and you got the lights. I want to find this guy's soul, and it's a work in progress."

Enjolras and Eponine were the two Tony-winning roles in the original 1987 Production—for Michael Maguire and Frances Ruffelle (where are they now? real question). Both characters were short-lived, actually die on stage and have killer songs.

Eponine's paean to her one-sided secret love for Marius, "On My Own," was delivered on opening night sublimely with commendable emotional restraint by Celia Keenan-Bolger.

Another who dies on stage, and sings well doing it, was Daphne Rubin-Vega, whose Fantine is the first principal to fall and report to perpetual replay as an extra (she applies a pretty mean tourniquet at the barricades, for instance). "I have a great time playing a terrifically tragic person," the original Mimi of Rent said, feigning reflection, kidding on the square. "Y'know, I'm really getting good at it. I've got to stop dying on stage now. It's time to stop. It's time to do something new."

She did feel an affinity for her character's plight. "There are more people who are like Fantine than we like to admit—people who take it on the chin and keep moving. She's almost iconoclastic as a symbol of how society can watch a beautiful thing degenerate."

Boublil and Schonberg set aside their Pirate Queen labors for this battery-charging blast from the past. "The audience looks at the show like a friend they haven't seen in years, and they're happy to see him again," said Schonberg. "It's amazing to see that reaction."

"What's amazing for me is the cast," offered Boublil. "A lot of those kids were not born when we wrote the show. It's the first time in 20 years I've been impressed by a Javert."

Schonberg's move: "I have been impressed by the Eponine that we have, and I must say that the journey that Alexander Gemignani has made as Jean Valjean since the first preview to what we've seen tonight is impressive. He's really imperial—and very young."

Except for brand new orchestrations, there are no major changes in the score—save for "Drink With Me," a plaintive number among the soon-to-die revolutionaries. Almost a throwaway before, it is lushly elaborated on now. "It's more like the novel," said Boublil. "In the novel, Victor Hugo was describing the drunken Grantaire (Lestat's Drew Sarich) as he played the guitar. John Caird suggested we use some more images from the novel and we asked the orchestrators to include a guitar that would be played on stage. We can still keep innovating and looking for new ideas because we still have the luxury to do it."

And is it true that Les Misérables is only in for a limited run of six months? Both men smiled knowingly. "That's what they say," Schonberg replied, and even through his thick French-accented English you could hear a distant—if distinct—dot dot dot.

The cast of Les Misérables wave to their opening night audience.
photo by Aubrey Reuben

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