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I don't know who wrote "Every time Stephen Sondheim writes a new show, Broadway gets reinvented." My late husband, Sheridan Morley, always swore it was him. Whoever wrote it, it's true. With every show, Sondheim kicks over the traces of what musical theatre has been and puts something in its place that has never been there before. But, equally, his signature is so strong that even the first few notes of the vamp that begins Road Show could have been written by nobody else. No matter what is to follow, a substantial portion of the audience — those of us who reckon we're as lucky to live in the time of Sondheim as Mozart's admirers were to share the same Viennese air with him — simultaneously relax and lean forward in anticipation of what is to come. For although Road Show in its latest incarnation through Sept. 17 at the Menier Chocolate Factory is, ultimately, disappointing, its score is unforgettably Sondheimesque, its book (by John Weidman) tight, its production (by John Doyle) innovative, and it engages you throughout.
The disappointment comes from its choice of subject — the failure of the American Dream — and the characters through whom the story is told: the Mizners, a pair of brothers who schematically embody flip sides of aspiration. Having gone through several lives and several titles, this is now probably the definitive version of this show, and you can't blame Sondheim for worrying away at it to get it right.
Well, it's as right now as it's ever going to be... and it still doesn't work, because it's difficult, no, impossible to care about either of the Mizners, their parents or any of the characters they run into during the course of the show. They're intriguing, certainly, but unattractive, even in the fine performances of Michael Jibson and David Bedella. Pity, but even for us Sondheim freaks, it's time for the great man to move on to yet another groundbreaking musical.
photo by Nigel Norrington |
photo by Jane Hobson |
The other revival of note is Martin McDonagh's The Beauty Queen of Leenane, which, following its worldwide success, is back in London at the Young Vic. Such an unlikely candidate for popularity, this play, set as it is in a horrible kitchen somewhere in Galway, with an evil elderly woman who lives to terrorize her slovenly, lonely, middle-aged daughter. It should repulse us, but McDonagh's dialogue, while anchoring it firmly in its time and place, lifts it to the level of stage poetry.
In fact, I suppose that the Globe's production of Howard Brenton's Anne Boleyn qualifies as a revival since it made its debut with the same cast last season. It has returned by popular acclaim, starring the enchanting Miranda Raison in the title role. This Anne is no siren but a practical, sensible politician who knows that the way to run the king, and therefore England, is to refuse to sleep with him until the queenship is in the bag. Brenton's play is funny, touching and even makes historical sense.
The Globe's printed programs are always one of the glories of their productions, and this particular one has a number of illuminating articles — notably about Anne herself and about James the Sixth of Scotland and the First of England, the king who followed Anne's daughter, Elizabeth the First, into the job. He makes much more than a cameo appearance in Anne Boleyn, carefully illustrating what happened to England as a result of Anne's brief tenure as queen to Henry the Eighth.
And finally, Ghost The Musical. What can I tell you? (Ruth Leon is a London and New York City arts writer and critic whose work has been seen in Playbill magazine and other publications.)
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