By Harry Haun
18 Apr 2011
|Photo by Joseph Marzullo/WENN|
Over the years, in all of the descents into the land of enchantment that lies just beyond the looking glass, The Mad Hatter has had many faces — Johnny Depp, Ed Wynn, Edward Everett Horton, Martin Short, Anthony Newley, et al — but never that of a woman, until April 17, when the curtain rose at the Marquis Theatre on Frank Wildhorn's Wonderland.
And there she is, Miss America of 1998, Kate Shindle, looking spiffy in her tall top-hat and dazzling outfits, belting out lusty power ballads to beat the band. This is what's called thinking outside the box, or at least outside the rabbit hole — maybe, come to think of it, outside the city limits of the rabbit hole.
There, evidently, are no rules in this Wonderland, so, in such a freefall of expression, Wildhorn can compose in whatever genre he likes. And he appears to like 'em all.
What's wrong with that?, the composer must have wondered, arriving four floors above the Marquis for his festive opening-night party in the Broadway Ballroom.
Variety, he said, "is the whole idea. I grew up in the pop world where the mandate always was: 'Find something you love about every style of music. Don't be closed to anything. Stay open.' I try to be a student to that. I try to stay open as much as I can, from big band jazz to Latin — next year we're going to do Havana, which is going to be all Latin — from the Gothic of Dracula to country and Texas for Bonnie and Clyde to the gospel stuff we did on Civil War.
"It's all fun, it's all different colors," he insisted excitedly, and indeed his Broadway musical palate to date is Technicolor-hued. Freedom makes a guy absolutely fearless about picking his subject matter, as Wildhorn's past accomplishments demonstrate.
He's the only composer who can claim six original Broadway musicals in the past 16 years. He debuted with three songs that finished out the score of the late Henry Mancini for Victor/Victoria; from then on, it has been Wildhorn Concentrate, leaping from one literary classic to another: Jekyll and Hyde, The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Civil War, Dracula and now Wonderland.
Next, he said, is Bonnie and Clyde. "I can only tell you what my producers told me today: 'in the fall.'"
This is just the tip of the iceberg, too. He hasn't even mentioned Europe, but he will and did: "I have a lot of shows that play around the world that I specifically write for producers around the world that don't have anything to do with New York. The Count of Monte Cristo is in its fourth year in Switzerland. My Carmen is the biggest hit in the history of Prague — it's in its fourth year there. My show Rudolph [Hapsburg, not The Red-Nosed Reindeer], has been in Vienna for the last couple of years and tours Europe. Camille Claudel is in Japan and all over Europe. And I have a lot of shows in Asia that I've written original pieces for Japanese producers. I love writing for the world. Because of my pop background, it was never about a few blocks in a city. It was always about the world of stage."
Returning to the planet earth and the show at hand, Wonderland was all written within these borders, a co-production between the David A. Straz Center for the Performing Arts in Tampa Bay and the Alley Theatre in Houston. It has been a long, two-and-a-half year haul to Broadway, and two producers (Jay Harris and Sonny Everett) above the title did not live to see the day it finally landed, all furry and family-friendly, at the Marquis.
Gregory Boyd, artistic director of the Alley, directed the piece and co-adapted the book with Jack Murphy — basically, a matter of maintaining logic and continuity between the songs. Theirs is a journey of self-empowerment rather than wide-eyed wonderment — just the ticket for teen girls who love Wicked.
Like Diana Ross in Sidney Lumet's leaden movie version of The Wiz, their Alice (played by a suitably strong-lunged Janet Dacal) is a grown-up, unhappy schoolteacher who stumbles into a frayed fantasyland as rag-tagged as the modern times she comes from. Forming around her in her tentative travels is a kind of Yellow-Brick-Road Gang, which consists of The White Knight (Darren Ritchie), The White Rabbit (Edward Staudenmayer), The Cheshire Cat (Jose Llana) and The Caterpillar (E. Clayton Cornelious). All heretofore were held to specialty-acts scenes; now they're a tagalong entourage.
Llana, who has really mastered the ear-to-ear grin of The Cheshire Cat and flashes it with insane ease throughout the production, wasn't quite sure why his character had a Spanish bent but figured ethnicity didn't matter since "it has to be the only role that was ever played by both Telly Savalas and Whoopi Goldberg."
A very funny fellow, Staudenmayer scampers about hither and yon as The White Rabbit, shouting, "I'm tardy" and "I'm not punctual" because Disney owns the copyright to "I'm late" (or so goes a joke in the show). Only now is the veteran comic just getting to Broadway — which, he was ragged, is what happens when you spend 16 years in Forbidden Broadway. He qualified it as his first sustained Main Stem appearance since he went on a few times for ailing Brooks Ashmanskas in Martin Short: Fame Becomes Me. "For all practical purposes, it's my Broadway bow."
Wildhorn wrote the introductory number for Cornelious' Caterpillar six times. "He wrote it specifically for my voice after he heard me singing, which was very flattering," the actor admitted. There are hints of Cab Calloway's "Hi-De-Ho" in the results, but Cornelious prefers to think he's doing a homage to Sammy Davis Jr.Continued...