Reviewed 4/2/04
A testament to the durability of classics of the American Musical Theatre is playing at the Tempe Performing Arts Center courtesy of Tempe Little Theatre: West Side Story, one of my favorites of this period, is proving to be a survivor. This is Bernstein and Sondheim's twist of both the old Romeo and Juliet and the Abie's Irish Rose stories (before it was going to be about Polish and Puerto Rican street gangs, it was to center on an Irish girl and a Jewish man falling in love with the title East Side Story ). Everyone knows it, or at least knows of it, and it's possible that the entire population of the Western hemisphere knows the melodies and words to such songs as "Tonight" and "America." It is this great source material of which TLT is testing the limits.
Director Teri Glaess and choreographer Roger Prenger work with a lot of inferior material to try to whip them into a solid, non-laughable cast. Community theatres are known for having to make do with as many men as will show up, and a production of this man-heavy musical highlights how difficult it is to find sixteen men (they've cast Glad Hand as a woman) who can sing and dance and not look like a gang of street toughs from Paradise Valley. This is a West Side Story whose Maria (Ange Mitchell), though an impressive actress, a good dancer, and an amazing singer, sports the blue eyes of a Caucasian, and whose Shark leader Bernardo (a stiff Stefan Linder), not nearly as gifted as Ms. Mitchell, is as Puerto Rican as Governor Ah-nold. Such is life in the homogenous Valley.
Despite the vast schism between some of the strong leads (Mitchell, Harley Boyter as Tony, Brandi Rose Bigley as a saucy Anita, Jamie Israel's wiseguy Action, and even the boyish Peter Curtis as supposedly tough Riff) and the remainder of the cast filler, every once in awhile, beyond the unsynchronized dancing that must have Jerome Robins pirouetting in his grave and the toothless Sharks and sweet-faced Jets who look like their women could easily take them in a fair fight, there are moments that transcend the mediocrity. These, I'm sure, can mostly be the work of the script and a clever Glaess and Prenger, who picked their battles wisely. Rather than trying to get this ragtag group to ace all of those large group numbers (the high school dance and the rumble are just muddy messes), they instead make everything click during selected and surprisingly successful moments. The first of these is near the end of the first act; as the collective readies for the rumble in their various ways, they sing a reprise of "Tonight" that is quite rousing. Glaess has the separate groups delineated by stark overhead, ungelled isolation spots courtesy of designer Clare Burnett, whose otherwise sickeningly oversaturated ambers and magentas made me queasy while she inexplicably dropped levels on all lights and used two pale blue spots on most every solo and duet to laughable effect. The audience gasped at this moment, stunned that such power could come from such a surprising source. This moment lead to others, including a nearly perfect rendition of "Officer Krupke."
Boyter and Mitchell (pictured right) never come close to any
kind of an emotional connection, but they make for a very cute couple during
their duets. Musical Director Kim
Watson has unwisely allowed Boyter to put in little, very modern
flourishes to his songs, taking him closer to Justin Timberlake than Tony.
Glaess has allowed him to wander aimlessly and gesticulate oddly during all
of his solos. Mitchell is scarily believable as a cute fourteen year-old girl,
though her accent dissolves the minute she sings. Bigley has fun with Anita,
and though her acting is unremarkable, she is strong of voice and light on
her feet, doing a great job standing out during a crowded "America."
The adults of the story are ineffective in more than just textual ways. While Fred Gerle's Doc is an affable sort, Dave Gernmain's Lt. Shrank is like the invasion of a melodramatic actor into the works. He growls and stamps around the stage while showing little understanding of his lines. Dave Durnil has the stage presence of a mannequin as Krupke, while Evelyn Gregor Durnil's sex-changed Glad Hand gets one specific punctuating moment to define her character.
T.J. Weltzien's set appears all wrong at first. Gone are any indications that this is New York City, a viable character removed in favor of stylization. However, despite the wrong choices such as odd paintjobs that clash with Burnett's light color scheme, church-like windows instead of oppressive rows of tenement casings, and an obviously wooden fire escape, the set is a puzzle box that is filled with workable surprises. Annette Heath's costumes intimate the era well, while Watson's 13-piece orchestra alternates between wonderfully rich to sounding like an orchestra competing against itself.
What is the net result of my ranting? Unfortunately, in the end, despite some absolutely defining moments and a few excellent performances, there is too much wrong with this evening to recommend itself. Hours of barely adequate overpower minutes of wonderful.
