By Alex Rendon
By Monica McGivern
By Michele Eve Sandberg
By Alex Rendon
By Monica McGivern
By Ian Witlen
By Christina Mendenhall
By Michele Eve Sandberg
At a time when gang-related, drive-by shootings plague the nation's major cities, a 40-year-old musical in which two rival packs sit down to a war council at the local soda shop and order "Cokes all around" would seem hopelessly dated. Yet when a police detective shows up spewing racial slurs and threatening to use his badge to carry out an ethnic cleansing of the neighborhood, it's clear that not much has really changed since West Side Story's 1957 debut. The vibrant revival now on-stage at the Actors' Playhouse in Coral Gables suggests that composer Leonard Bernstein and lyricist Stephen Sondheim's classic may prove as enduring as Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, upon which it is based.
Set in a poor Manhattan neighborhood struggling to absorb a recent influx of immigrants, West Side Story opens with a frenetically danced turf war between the homegrown Jets and the Puerto Rican gang the Sharks. In fact, these kids use their feet as much as their fists, compensating for their youthful inarticulateness by pouring their restlessness into emotion-drenched dances. Choreographer Barbara LeGette nicely adapts the movements Jerome Robbins created for the Broadway original (which won him a special Oscar when the show made the transition to the screen in 1961), adroitly filling the Playhouse's vast stage with finger-snapping, jeans-clad teenage rebels. Working with a cast that lacks the size and training that Robbins enjoyed, LeGette still captures the excitement of Robbins' dances, which are as much a part of West Side Story as the show's familiar score.
Directing the Jets in an ode to their gang ("Jet Song") or warning them to keep "Cool," leader Riff (Terrell Hardcastle) navigates his followers through intricate patterns -- they come off like fighter planes at an air show. Later, just down the block, Bernardo (Julio Agustin) and his girlfriend Anita (Connie SaLoutos) stage a rousing, skirt-swirling, flamenco-stomping showdown, challenging each other over the virtues of living in "America." It's no surprise then that when the two gangs meet at a peacekeeping dance at a neighborhood gym, the floor erupts into a take-no-prisoners mambo war zone that threatens to blow the roof off the Playhouse's newly renovated theater.
The bedlam melts away when ex-Jet Tony (Timothy C. Johnson) spies and immediately falls for Bernardo's little sister Maria (Elissa Anne Boone), who has been brought over from Puerto Rico to marry her brother's best pal, Chino (Peter Musa-Ris). Their love is sealed in the unforgettable ballads "Tonight," "One Hand, One Heart," and "Somewhere." Johnson and Boone manage to impart a certain freshness to the well-known songs. Meanwhile Agustin and SaLoutos' colorful, passionate performances threaten to make Bernardo and Anita the musical's most memorable couple. This talented quartet heads a cast of 28 in the Playhouse's most ambitious staging to date. Director David Arisco keeps the mix of professionals and novice performers focused in a seamless production.
With a book (by Arthur Laurents) so slender that it almost qualifies as one of Bernstein's modern operas or a precursor to Sondheim's sung-through musicals, West Side Story never slows down long enough for the characters to reflect upon their actions, which presents Arisco with his biggest challenge: the staging of a musical tragedy. As in Romeo and Juliet, the characters here rush headlong into their fates, which have been predetermined by their lives in the barrio as surely as if they had been born Capulets and Montagues. Yet West Side Story zooms from a deadly rumble to the fatal shooting that ends Tony and Maria's romance, never pausing to give the audience a chance to get to know or care about the characters.
In Craig Zadan's book Sondheim & Co., Stephen Sondheim comments that "West Side Story is about the theater. It's more about techniques, not about people, and Arthur recognized that problem right away, and instead of writing people he wrote one-dimensional characters for a melodrama, which is what it is." In the same book, a less critical Bernstein adds, "I was convinced [West Side Story] would lead to some form of American opera. I think the merit of the show was the total integration of everybody's talents, and it consequently had more fluidity than any show ever."
This revival's own smooth pacing owes a lot to designer Dorset Noble, whose ingenious three-story set of iron fire escapes and revolving buildings precludes lengthy set changes. Similarly Mary Lynne Izzo's merry period costumes blend eye-popping dresses with teenage working-class apparel, enhancing the production's overall youthful vigor.
Disappointingly their expert work is not supported by Stuart Reiter's hackneyed lighting design. For example he places Tony and Maria in sweetheart-pink spotlights while projections of impressionistic fireworks appear over the skyline as the duo sings that their love is "shooting sparks into space." Even worse is Tom Dillickrath's musical direction of the six-man pit orchestra, which turns Bernstein's lush score into a karaoke nightmare of syncopated drums and synthesized sounds.
Still, Actors' Playhouse offers up a spirited 40th anniversary staging of a timeless musical that at least one of its creators never thought would endure. Sondheim himself has carped, "What lasts in the theater is character, and there are no characters. The show isn't very good." Which explains why Sondheim made his name in the theater district and not on Wall Street.
West Side Story. Based on Jerome Robbins' concept. Book by Arthur Laurents. Music by Leonard Bernstein. Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. Directed by David Arisco. Choreographed by Barbara LeGette. Starring Timothy C. Johnson, Elissa Anne Boone, Julio Agustin, Connie SaLoutos, and Terrell Hardcastle. Through January 4. Actors' Playhouse, 280 Miracle Mile, Coral Gables, 305-444-9293.
As the sidewalk bell-ringers in the 1961 musical Subways Are for Sleeping remind us, this is the time of year to "Be a Santa." Theater tickets always make a great gift: Holiday schedules place Ebenezer Scrooge on the boards at Actors' Playhouse and the Broward Center for the Performing Arts, while New Year's Eve revels include shows with Broadway vets Chita Rivera (the Broward Center) and Len Cariou (the Caldwell Theatre). Still, to add even more drama to yuletide giving, I offer the following alternatives.
For that friend who can't find a hummable tune in Sondheim's later musicals and considers the composer's acclaim a mystery, I have invented a Sondheim puzzler pack. (After all, Sondheim's mania for games inspired Anthony Shaffer to write Sleuth.) This nonmusical gift consists of a videocassette of The Last of Sheila (list price $14.99), the 1973 mystery movie that Sondheim cowrote with actor Anthony Perkins, bundled with a script of the short-lived 1996 Broadway thriller Getting Away With Murder, which he coauthored with George Furth ($10.95).
If the $99 price tag for Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet (1996) videotape makes you ponder "to be or not to be" bankrupt, why not wrap up a less-expensive Branagh portrayal of another disillusioned, verse-spouting malcontent? Just $19.95 buys his incandescent performance in the 1995 British TV production of Christopher Fry's The Lady's Not for Burning, the romantic tale of a suicidal ex-soldier's defense of a suspected witch.
Taking as your cue Shakespeare's notion that music is the food of love, give your favorite candlelight-dinner partner a copy of the recently published Grandma Doralee Patinkin's Jewish Family Cookbook ($23.95) along with Broadway and television star Mandy Patinkin's 1994 album Experiment ($10.99 tape/$15.99 CD). Hark to Mandy's angelic voice while re-creating family recipes compiled by the singer's mom.
Ignore the movie hucksters luring you to see Titanic and create your own tribute to disasters. First pick up a copy of the cast recording of Broadway's Titanic ($10.99 tape/$17.99 CD), which has taken up permanent residence in my CD carousel thanks to its majestic orchestrations and stirring choruses. Then call up Manhattan's Triton Gallery (800-626-6674) and order an original show card advertising one of Broadway's legendary bombs. (Prices start at $15, although a copy of the poster touting Eve Arden in Moose Murders will run you $75.)
It's never too early to turn kids on to musical comedy. Just place under the tree a copy of playwright Wendy Wasserstein's book Pamela's First Musical, now available in paperback for a reasonable $5.45. Of course introducing adults to show tunes is more of a challenge, and for reluctant listeners I suggest a copy of Paul Simon's Songs From the Capeman ($10.99 tape/$17.99 CD), which features tracks the composer laid down while developing his new Broadway musical (currently in previews for a January 8 opening). Pop fans counting on hearing Simon's catchy hooks will no doubt be disappointed, and Broadway aficionados will have to wait for a full cast to realize the score's potential, but this hit-and-miss recording nonetheless presents a fascinating look at Simon's efforts to wed Fifties doo-wop and Latin melodies to lyrics bulging with plot-dictated exposition.
Then again you can always play it safe with a copy of the cast album of composer Elton John's The Lion King ($10.99 tape/$17.99 CD); still, because everyone knows the current Broadway blockbuster is really director Julie Taymor's triumph, the better gift is her book Julie Taymor: Playing With Fire ($49.50). Worth buying a coffee table to put it on, Playing With Fire features 195 illustrations of the director/choreographer/designer's theatrical creations, as well as excerpts from her production notes.