Dec. 11th, 2002 01:06 pm
The Demon Barber on Wacker Drive
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muckefuckLast night was the first time I'd seen Sweeney Todd ever, so I can't compare this production to any others. At the time, I enjoyed it for what it was and, in retrospect, I tried to apply the same criteria in judging it that I apply to all performances in that venue.
The most important of these, of course, is the Index Corporum (vulgo body count), upon which it excels: All major characters save two die, for a total of at least nine onstage murders. Nothing else this season even comes close! (Valküre, by contrast, sports a mere two, both off stage.)
One reason why the IC works is that it provides some measure of dramatic action. People talk all the time about pretty melodies and lovely singing. This is largely wasted on me if the story isn't engaging. (Though a truly extraordinary singer can overcome this; I still remember the rather static Alcina as a superior experience primarily on the basis of Renée Fleming's incredible singing.) There's no shortage of incident in Sweeney Todd. At intermission, I reviewed the plot in my mind and realised "Hey! This is Barber of Seville! With cannibalism. Barber if Figaro were really twisted and evil."
And the direction made the most of all. Very clever and interesting staging. Simple, in some ways, but gritty, evocative, and dynamic. Excellent use is made of shadow play, particularly to suggest action too risqué to stage openly. Everything has a wonderfully sordid Victorian feel . Characters move around a lot, but always with motivation, not just to keep the set from getting too quiet.
Everyone agrees Sondheim's texts are wonderful. It was a treat for me to see the ripple that went through the blue hairs at the old slattern's first indecent proposal. And the comic numbers got a great response from the audience.
"Suck" isn't the right word. It's too bad the music is so limited. I don't mean in stylistic range; it's all pastiche and the ingredients are diverse--but this is not necessarily a strength. At one point, we heard syncopated Latin rhythms and thought, "What the hell is this doing in 19th-century London?" At another, I heard the opening bars of an XTC ballad. There are no themes, no Leitmotive. (As Nuphy put it, "There are just numbers and they get repeated.") Often, the melodies seem simply to serve the texts and one can't imagine listening to them on their own merits.
Had I been seeing this at the Auditorium or the Chicago, I wouldn't have even thought of such things. But, like I said, staging this at Lyric inevitably invites comparisons to the typical fare. I suddently have new appreciation for the achievements of silly Italian composers like Bellini and Donizetti. Their compositions at least have consistency--and better hooks. Having the chorus reappear regularly to screech the name of the title character reminded me of the conclusion to Britten's Peter Grimes, where that device chilled you to the bone. Here, it just serves to give the stagehands a chance to rearrange the properties. (Britten's also a master at drawing themes from traditional English music and elabourating them into compelling, unified scores.)
With the exception of the woman who sang Mrs Lovett, the brilliant cast probably sang these songs as best as anyone could. Bryn can do no wrong in my eyes, at any rate, and I was painfully aware of how underutilised his gifts were. It was one thing to hear him sing a couple Flanders and Swann numbers at the end of a night of Lieder--that just impresses you with his incredible range. It's another to have a whole night of nothing but music hall tunes. He was craming as much subtlety and pathos into those songs as they would allow and it just wasn't enough to satisfy me. (Same goes, mutatis mutandis, for our Anthony, Nathan Gunn, who recently sang the lead in Billy Budd.)
As a result, the ending more or less left me cold. Todd starts out so brooding and hateful that I didn't get any chilling sense of one man's descent into madness. My co-worker--who loves this musical--enthused about how one number "starts out with righteous vengence, turns into this project for social revolution, and ends up as a cannibalistic free-for-all". So quickly, in fact, that you never get the feeling he started out far from the endpoint. In other words, he's no Wozzeck.
I know, I know, and Sondheim is no Berg. But I had hoped he'd at least be able to hold his own against Brecht (+n) & Weill, whose work has also been showcased at the Opera House. Maybe I just need more exposure to his work for the depth to emerge from it. But, like I said, I enjoyed it for what it was. Like my meal that night, it was fine fish 'n' chips. But for the price I'm paying, I want grilled swordfish with a cassis reduction
The most important of these, of course, is the Index Corporum (vulgo body count), upon which it excels: All major characters save two die, for a total of at least nine onstage murders. Nothing else this season even comes close! (Valküre, by contrast, sports a mere two, both off stage.)
One reason why the IC works is that it provides some measure of dramatic action. People talk all the time about pretty melodies and lovely singing. This is largely wasted on me if the story isn't engaging. (Though a truly extraordinary singer can overcome this; I still remember the rather static Alcina as a superior experience primarily on the basis of Renée Fleming's incredible singing.) There's no shortage of incident in Sweeney Todd. At intermission, I reviewed the plot in my mind and realised "Hey! This is Barber of Seville! With cannibalism. Barber if Figaro were really twisted and evil."
And the direction made the most of all. Very clever and interesting staging. Simple, in some ways, but gritty, evocative, and dynamic. Excellent use is made of shadow play, particularly to suggest action too risqué to stage openly. Everything has a wonderfully sordid Victorian feel . Characters move around a lot, but always with motivation, not just to keep the set from getting too quiet.
Everyone agrees Sondheim's texts are wonderful. It was a treat for me to see the ripple that went through the blue hairs at the old slattern's first indecent proposal. And the comic numbers got a great response from the audience.
"Suck" isn't the right word. It's too bad the music is so limited. I don't mean in stylistic range; it's all pastiche and the ingredients are diverse--but this is not necessarily a strength. At one point, we heard syncopated Latin rhythms and thought, "What the hell is this doing in 19th-century London?" At another, I heard the opening bars of an XTC ballad. There are no themes, no Leitmotive. (As Nuphy put it, "There are just numbers and they get repeated.") Often, the melodies seem simply to serve the texts and one can't imagine listening to them on their own merits.
Had I been seeing this at the Auditorium or the Chicago, I wouldn't have even thought of such things. But, like I said, staging this at Lyric inevitably invites comparisons to the typical fare. I suddently have new appreciation for the achievements of silly Italian composers like Bellini and Donizetti. Their compositions at least have consistency--and better hooks. Having the chorus reappear regularly to screech the name of the title character reminded me of the conclusion to Britten's Peter Grimes, where that device chilled you to the bone. Here, it just serves to give the stagehands a chance to rearrange the properties. (Britten's also a master at drawing themes from traditional English music and elabourating them into compelling, unified scores.)
With the exception of the woman who sang Mrs Lovett, the brilliant cast probably sang these songs as best as anyone could. Bryn can do no wrong in my eyes, at any rate, and I was painfully aware of how underutilised his gifts were. It was one thing to hear him sing a couple Flanders and Swann numbers at the end of a night of Lieder--that just impresses you with his incredible range. It's another to have a whole night of nothing but music hall tunes. He was craming as much subtlety and pathos into those songs as they would allow and it just wasn't enough to satisfy me. (Same goes, mutatis mutandis, for our Anthony, Nathan Gunn, who recently sang the lead in Billy Budd.)
As a result, the ending more or less left me cold. Todd starts out so brooding and hateful that I didn't get any chilling sense of one man's descent into madness. My co-worker--who loves this musical--enthused about how one number "starts out with righteous vengence, turns into this project for social revolution, and ends up as a cannibalistic free-for-all". So quickly, in fact, that you never get the feeling he started out far from the endpoint. In other words, he's no Wozzeck.
I know, I know, and Sondheim is no Berg. But I had hoped he'd at least be able to hold his own against Brecht (+n) & Weill, whose work has also been showcased at the Opera House. Maybe I just need more exposure to his work for the depth to emerge from it. But, like I said, I enjoyed it for what it was. Like my meal that night, it was fine fish 'n' chips. But for the price I'm paying, I want grilled swordfish with a cassis reduction
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