What is "Indecent"?

"Indecent" -- Yale Repertory Theatre -- Thru Oct. 24

Adina Verson and Katrina Lenk. Photo by Carol Rosegg.

There’s a play within a play about a play currently playing at Yale Repertory Theatre. It’s the world premiere of Paula Vogel’s Indecent, directed by Rebecca Taichman, and it is an often mesmerizing yet somewhat emotionally aloof effort to make a mountain out of a dramatic molehill.

Back in 1907, the Jewish author and playwright Sholem Asch wrote a play in Yiddish called The God of Vengeance (see Psalm 94 for the allusion). Given the era, it was a daring attempt to depict Jewish characters warts and all, for it is set in a brothel run by a Jewish father (the family lives on the second floor of the establishment) and features a lesbian relationship between his daughter and one of the prostitutes, a relationship that eventually has the father turn away from God and desecrate the Torah scrolls. Heady stuff.

The play migrated to New York in 1907, as did Asch, and was produced in the thriving Yiddish theater for many years and, eventually, in English translation, was staged by the Provincetown Playhouse and then, after it was “cleaned up,” on Broadway in 1923. It soon closed, with the cast, producers and theater owner arrested for obscenity, a charge brought by a local rabbi.

Context is all here. Even with the notes in the show’s program, one never really understands the importance of Asch’s play to the Jewish community or what is exactly up for grabs. Hence, watching as the troupe of fine actors depicts Vengeance’s many manifestations, including a production in a ghetto in Poland during World War II, one can’t help but feel a bit removed from what is happening up on the stage. It’s obvious that someone – or many people – think all of this is important. Would that Vogel could have figured out a way to convey that importance.

And yet, this is, by and large, an enjoyable evening of theater, thanks to the stellar cast and Taichman’s deft direction. For most of the evening, it’s actually a romp, with the actors dancing and skipping from scene to scene, moving to the music provided by Lisa Gutkin, Aaron Halva and Travis W. Hendrix, who form what might be thought of as a klezmer pick-up band. The actors, guided by Richard Topol, who plays Lemml, the stage manager, take on multiple roles as historical characters (Eugene O’Neill even makes an appearance in an Irish bar, a perhaps superfluous scene) and as characters in Asch’s play.

The opening scene has the actors arranged upstage – there’s no scenery -- the Rep’s innards are laid bare for all to see – and few props, just some suitcases and a desk for the final scene. The actors are set all in a row, as if they are sitting shiva. Projected text in English and Hebrew – integral to understanding what is going on – indicates that they are rising from the ashes. In perhaps the only false directorial move during the evening, as the actors rise and come forward ashes fall from their sleeves…and continue to fall…and fall…and fall. It’s a bit of overkill, so to speak.

However, once the dust clears, this talented group of thespians – Katrina Lenk, Mimi Lieber, Max Gordon Moore, Tom Nelis, Steven Rattazzi and Adina Verson – do put on a show, or rather multiple shows. Oddly enough, it’s the actors you come to care about and admire -- their skill and talent – more so than the multiple characters they are asked to bring to life. This holds true save for the Vengeance characters portrayed by Lenk and Verson, the two women who form a romantic relationship, for Vogel has wisely used their relationship, and their pivotal scene in Vengeance – the “Rain” scene -- as the emotional center of her play.

As Vengenace moves from venue to venue, it is this scene that is referenced over and over again, building audience anticipation to actually see what has mesmerized everyone involved with Asch’s play. Vogel, Taichman and scenic designer Riccardo Hernandez, as well as Lenk and Verson, deliver on the build. There is, in fact, a rain scene, wonderfully staged.

The basic problem with the play is that the audience really doesn’t know what it is supposed to focus on, what it is supposed to care about. Is it Asch’s artistic struggle (the final scene would suggest so), or what he viewed happening to the Jews in Europe? Is it the life of Vengeance, its historical and dramatic importance? Surely it’s not the fact that the actors and producers were arrested and brought to trial – this happens late in the play and is almost an afterthought, and Asch’s reluctance to step forward and defend his work seems muted. The play seems to echo other plays – oddly enough, even Cabaret -- to draw on them for emotional bulk and essence. There’s a lot going on as this play within a play plays itself out, and you certainly can appreciate all the skill and talent up there on the stage and the creative thought that went into its staging, but…the mind can be intrigued and diverted while the heart, well, it seeks something it can embrace. Indecent is intriguing, but it is not embraceable.

Indecent runs through Oct. 24. For tickets or more information call 203-432-1234 or go to www.yalerep.org

Tuesdays -- to Eternity

Tuesdays with Morrie -- Playhouse on Park -- Through Oct 18

Gannon McHale and Chris Richards. All photos by Meredith Atkinson

Sometimes, less is more. Such is the case with Playhouse on Park’s Tuesdays with Morrie, a gentle, touching play that inexorably works its way into your heart. Sensitively directed by Sasha Bratt, this adaptation of the memoir by Mitch Albom eschews flash and spectacle to focus on a relationship between two men, a teacher and a former student, that deals with the issues of death and, more importantly, the issues of a life well lived.

Written by Albom and Jeffrey Hatcher, the play chronicles meetings between Mitch (Chris Richards) and Morrie (Gannon McHale), as Morrie slowly succumbs to Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). The two first met at Brandeis University when Mitch took a sociology course taught by Morrie (the name, in Hebrew, relates to “my teacher’). Entranced and excited, Mitch eventually signed up for every course Morrie taught and, upon graduation, swore that he would keep in touch with “coach.”. He didn’t.

Sixteen years later, Mitch, who once dreamed of being a jazz pianist, is now a driven sports journalist who just happens to catch Morrie being interviewed by Ted Coppel on Nightline. Memories and guilt motivate Mitch to fly up to Boston to visit Morrie. The first meeting is awkward, for Mitch has issues about dealing with those facing the ultimate journey, but Morrie, who understands, among other things, the healing power of touch (he dubs a kiss on the forehead “extra credit”), gets Mitch to commit to weekly visits on Tuesdays.

 What follows is an exploration of friendship and shared humanity that, over the course of the one-act play, has the power to make you embrace all of the possibilities life has to offer, even as life comes to a close.

The set, designed by Christopher Hoyt, is simplicity itself: strips of parquet flooring angle out stage right, creating a saw-tooth design that is mirrored by the images on the back wall. The only furniture on-stage: two chairs and a book-laden table, plus a piano set extreme stage left. In the final moments of the play, a back wall opens and a bed slides forward: Morrie’s last resting place. The scene ends and the bed recedes into darkness bearing Morrie; it is a striking yet subtle evocation of the passage into the unknown, a stirring image, enhanced by Aaron Hochheiser’s lighting, that, opening night, evoked a palpable silence from the audience – you could feel those watching bidding Morrie adieu, perhaps with some tears.

This is an intimate play tailor-made for the venue, and Bratt has blocked scenes so that the emotions generated by the two actors can be felt by all, house left, right and center. And emotions there are aplenty. Richards gives a fine performance as a man conflicted, drawn to Morrie yet committed to the demands of a twenty-four-seven job. He has turned away from his heart’s desires and, in the process, lost part of his soul. This is best captured in a touching scene in which Mitch’s wife, a former singer, visits Morrie and sings for him (the wife is imagined). Morrie asks her to sing for him…and she does. At this moment, Mitch realizes that he has never really “heard” his wife, has never paused long enough in his hectic career to listen to the song of her life.

As impressive as Richards’ performance is, it is overshadowed, and rightly so, by McHale’s portrayal of Morrie. My play-going partner expressed it well when she commented: “What moved me most were not only the tears that the last scene brought

to my eyes, but also the impulse I had to get up out of my seat and help Morrie as

his struggle with the disease increased. I was physically drawn to comfort him

more than once.” Such is the power of McHale’s performance as he changes from a man eager to dance through life to one whose every movement creates pain. It’s a full, rich performance, made even more powerful by the theater’s physical intimacy.

Playhouse on Park is in its seventh year, and it continues to board productions that both move and, at times, astound. This is an organization that can tackle the boisterous, energy-filled demands of Hair and then stage an intimate, soul-searching production such as Tuesdays with Morrie. It’s a little theater with a big heart and a willingness to accept challenges. One can only wonder what surprises await when, at the end of this season, it stages. A Chorus Line. I can only hope that it will be a singular sensation.

Tuesdays with Morrie runs through Oct. 18. For tickets or more information call 860-523-5900, X10, or go to www.playhouseonpark.org

"Little Shop" Flowers at Ivoryton

"Little Shop of Horrors" -- Ivoryton Playhouse -- Thru Oct. 11

Laura Woyasz and Audrey II. All photos by Roger U. Williams

There’s something deadly growing out in Ivoryton. It’s big and green and mean – imagine the venus fly trap cross-bred with kudzu and then pumped full of steroids and you get the picture. This voracious creature goes by the innocuous name of Audrey II, but don’t be fooled – it will eat you as soon as look at you, but you may wish to look at it, at least from the safety of a seat at the Ivoryton Playhouse, where Little Shop of Horrors, a delightful, black-comedy spoof of 1950s creature-feature movies is currently enjoying a run. Following on the heels of Ivoryton’s successful productions of South Pacific and Memphis, this exploration of botanical Grand Guignol, briskly directed by Lawrence Thelen, is, by and large, a treat for the eyes and ears.

Azarria White, Denielle Marie Gray, La’Nette Wallace

 Graced by a highly adaptable, turn-table set designed by Martin Scott Marchitto, this sci-fi spoof opens with a Greek chorus of sorts: Chiffon (Azarria White), Crystal (La’Nette Wallace) and Ronnette (Denielle Marie Gray), grade-school dropouts, set the scene for the horrors that will ensue. They are denizens of Skid Row, where Mushnik’s florist shop is dying on the vine. Mr. Mushnik (David Conaway) is close to despair because business is so bad. In fact, he’s ready to fire his two assistants, the meek, amateur botanist Seymour (Nicholas Park) and the much abused Audrey (Laura Woyasz), a young lady working on exceedingly low wattage who is dating Orin (Carson Higgins), a demented dentist who grooves on pain.

Salvation arrives in the form of a small plant that Seymour came across during a total eclipse of the sun, a plant he has lovingly cared for and named Audrey II (animated by Austin Costello and voiced by Steve Sabol). As soon as the plant is put on display business starts to pick up, but every silver lining has a cloud attached – the plant is a persnickety eater: it desires only blood. At first this is supplied by Seymour, but soon the plant craves more and Seymour is forced to become murderously creative. The plant grows, Seymour becomes a success, in the process winning the fair hand of the ditzy Audrey, but there is a price to be paid when you sell your soul to a devil-plant.

Based on the cult film classic of the same name directed by Roger Corman, with book and lyrics by Howard Ashman and music by Alan Menken, Little Shop is not only a skewed take on the paranoid “scare” films of the 50s, it is a modernized Greek tragedy complete with characters with out-sized fatal flaws. It is also tuneful and energetic, although the energy takes a while to be generated.

Nicholas Park and Carson Higgins

 Perhaps it’s the initially uneven sound, designed by Tate R. Burmeister, or the less than innovative and somewhat stilted opening choreography crafted by Apollo Smile, but the musical’s initial scenes seem somewhat muted. The “Downtown” number, which should feature the voices of the two leads – Audrey and Seymour – is more of a mushy mélange. In fact, Woyasz’s voice seems to get lost in the vocal crowd (she’s blocked extreme stage right for much of the number and dimly lit) and Seymour, stage center inside the florist shop, is oddly distant. Matters aren’t helped by Conaway delivering his opening lines so big that he really has nowhere to go dramatically for the rest of the show.

These problems aside, the production quickly brightens and sharpens as Audrey II begins to grow and Woyasz, Park and Higgins take control. Anyone familiar with Little Shop, either in its Broadway or Hollywood iterations, has Ellen Greene’s performance as Audrey etched in his mind. To Woyasz’s credit, she creates an Audrey that’s all her own, using a walk that reminds one of a strutting turkey, plus dips, cringes and other mannerisms, as well as subtle body-language reactions. Once her voice is allowed to be heard, she delivers a poignant “Somewhere That’s Green” and a moving duet with Park in “Suddenly, Seymour.”

Park is sufficiently meek and gawky as Seymour, and he’s able to generate real angst as he begins to deal with the moral ambiguity presented by the continued existence of Audrey II. Higgins, who shined in Ivoryton’s Memphis, does the sadistic-dentist turn to a fault, especially in the “Dentist!” number, pulls off a great death-by-nitrous-oxide scene with Park, and shows his ability as a quick-change artist when he is called upon to play three different characters (including a female editor) all seeking to get Seymour to sign contracts.

The finale finds most of the cast having been devoured by the insatiable plant, only to reappear as its tendrils singing a final warning about the danger of feeding plants. The only problem here is the use of a smoke machine, which belches out so much smoke as the finale begins that it’s difficult to see what is happening on stage. The smoke envelops the actors and wafts out into the audience – a bit of atmospheric overkill that is totally unnecessary.

Quibbles and smoke screens aside, Ivoryton’s Little Shop is a sprightly production that consistently entertains. Artfully staged (actually amazingly so, given the size of Ivoryton’s stage) and nicely paced, with excellent lighting effects by Marcus Abbott, the show, which runs just under two hours with a 15-minute intermission, is well worth the drive out to scenic Ivoryton.

Little Shop of Horrors runs through Oct. 11. For tickets or more information call 860-767-7318 or go to www.ivorytonplayhouse.org.

A Slow "Opening in Time"

An Opening in Time -- Hartford Stage -- Thru Oct. 11

Deborah Hedwall and Patrick Clear. Photo by T. Charles Erickson

Sometimes you can gather the best of ingredients and follow a tried and true recipe and still, for some reason, the meal just doesn’t turn out right. Such is the case with Christopher Shinn’s An Opening in Time, which is having its world premiere at Hartford Stage. Directed at something of a snail’s pace by Oliver Butler, this slice of suburban Connecticut life seems to drag on for longer than its actual two hours, with the main plot somewhat under-spiced and the secondary plots served underdone.

The show’s program goes on at great length via an interview with Shinn about the setting being Connecticut, but it really doesn’t matter. It could be set in any wealthy suburban town in America -- you’d just have to change some street names. Into this town comes Anne (Deborah Hedwall), recently widowed and searching for…well, that remains to be seen. You see, she moved away years ago to live on a farm with her husband, leaving behind a very frustrated Ron (Patrick Clear), who believes that they once almost had a thing going on, or so he tells Frank (Bill Christ), his diner-dining buddy, while they are being served by Anetta (Kati Brazda), a Polish waitress who has eyes for Ron. But there’s more to Anne’s move than meets the eye, for she has also relocated to be close to her son Sam (Karl Miller), who has gotten into trouble by romancing a teenage girl.

Ah, but there’s still more, for Anne has purchased a house next door to a family that has fostered two brothers – one who has left, succumbing to a world of crime and drugs, and the other, George (Brandon Smalls) who is in the process of finding himself in terms of sexual identity. Anne soon befriends George and she, being an ex-high school teacher, naturally loans him a copy of Hemingway’s short stories, a surefire ice-breaker for a young twenty-first century adolescent male. George’s foster mother, Kim (Molly Camp) is somewhat edgy (in a fidgety, hyper-suburban housewife manner) with this relationship, especially after someone breaks one of Anne’s windows, which brings a police detective (Mike Keller) on the scene to investigate.

So all of the ingredients are on the table – actually, they are on or at a lot of tables, which keep popping up as if to show off some of the renovations the Stage has undergone. Diner tables and pizza parlor tables and even a table from a Denny’s restaurant rise up onto the stage as if they are majestic thrones – the first appearance of the diner counter, with Frank and Ron contentedly munching away, elicited some laughter from the audience, surely not scenic designer Antje Ellermann’s intention. Such over-production suggests that Ellermann and Butler simply didn’t trust the audience to fill in the scenic blanks.

In any event, the main set, upper stage left, is the interior of Anne’s house – specifically her kitchen. Anne doesn’t spend much time in the kitchen and when she does the semi-enclosed room seems to muffle dialogue. There’s a second house stage right, but it’s never made clear who lives in this house or why it’s even there, but that seems to go hand-in-hand with An Opening in Time’s major problem: why are most of these characters introduced and how do they relate?

If you’re interested in what’s nagging at neighbor Kim, well don’t hold your breath. Do you want to know who is breaking Anne’s windows? Wait for the sequel. Hoping for some resolution of Anne’s relationship with George? You can eavesdrop on a phone conversation and gather what information you may. Wonder where the hell Ron went? Sorry. Perhaps he ran off with Anetta.

There is, however, a resolution of sorts, and it provides the only sparks this play offers. Anne and Ron have to work out what really happened between them 30 years ago, and Hedwall and Clear suddenly to come to life, as does the play, in the middle of the second act as their characters confront each other about their interpretations of the past. The argument and subsequent resolution at, of course, a table, provide the only dramatic satisfaction the play offers, though it is pretty weak satisfaction at that. We’re not talking Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf here – it’s more along the lines of Love Story.

Most of the other scenes in the play seem to unfold in slow motion, with a lot of air inserted into the dialogue. One scene that is especially drawn out is the awkward meeting between Anne and Sam at the aforementioned Denny’s. The main point of the scene is that the wounded mother-son relationship can’t be healed in just one meeting, but it takes a long time to establish this fact, and Miller’s channeling of James Dean doesn’t help matters – the idea here is that intransigence can be conveyed through broken sentences punctuated by a lot of silence. In fact, extended silences appear to be the primary mode of emotional communication between many of the characters.   

If you’re intrigued by pop-up tables and moved by the sounds of silence, then An Opening in Time may be just your dish. For the rest of the theater-going public, there’s not much there to satisfy. You’ll come away hungry for a four-course meal that, from soup to nuts, pleases the palate and is served with a sense of immediacy.

An Opening in Time runs through October 11. For tickets or more information call 860-527-5151 or go to www.hartfordtsage.org.      

The Bedroom as Battleground

"Bedroom Farce" -- Westport Country Playhouse -- Thru Sept. 13

Carson Elrod, Sarah Manton and Scott Drummond. All photos by Carol Rosegg

Anyone familiar with theater knows that staging a farce normally requires a lot of doors, which are frequently slammed as characters rush about chasing each other. In the case of Alan Ayckbourn’s “Bedroom Farce,” which recently opened at the Westport Country Playhouse under the capable direction of John Tillinger, there are the requisite doors, though they are seldom slammed. They do, however, provide entrance into three bedrooms where, obviously, the beds dominate, and it is these beds and the people who sleep in them, or rather, attempt to sleep in them, that Ayckbourn has chosen to focus on in his slowly developing though ultimately quite humorous analysis of what we do when the shades are drawn. It’s not what you think (but you probably already know that).

Stage right offers us the bedroom of Delia (Cecilia Hart) and Ernest (the ever reliable Paxton Whitehead), a couple of a certain age who worry about a damp spot in the guest room ceiling and believe it’s a treat to have sardines and toast in bed. This couple, in their younger years, somehow managed to bring forth a son named Trevor (Carson Elrod), a borderline sociopath who is currently married to the somewhat fragile, flighty Susannah (Sarah Manton).

Cecilia Hart, Sarah Manton and Paxton Whitehead

Stage Center we have the bedroom of Kate (Claire Karpen) and Malcolm (Scott Desmond), a young couple who have decided to throw a house warming party for themselves to which, reluctantly, Trevor and Susannah have been invited, for the couple apparently are to parties what Typhoid Mary was to New York.

Finally, stage left offers us the bedroom of Nick (Matthew Greer) and Jan (Nicole Lowrance), who have also been invited to the party but, alas, Nick can’t attend – he’s bedridden with a bad back (Ayckbourn seems to subscribe to the idea that men, when confronted with illness or pain, turn into sniveling babies). Jan, however, is determined to attend the party, knowing that her former lover, Trevor, will be there with his psychotic wife.

Claire Karpen and Carson Elrod

Thus the stage, handsomely decorated by scenic designer Marjorie Bradley Kellogg, is set for a mix and match of emotions all fueled by Trevor and Susannah’s rather tempestuous marriage. The two are obliviously intrusive – they invade the three bedrooms like locust or cockroaches, creating havoc wherever they appear.

However, the havoc takes a bit of time to develop, so the first act, although punctuated by some witty dialogue, arch commentary on the more mundane aspects of married bliss, and a great husband-wife duke-out performed by Manton and Elrod, seems to be one long set-up for the second act. As the action, such as it is, jumps from bedroom to bedroom, the transitions accentuated by John Demous’s lighting design, we are treated to extended character development and a slow build – you just know all hell is going to break loose, you’d just like it to happen a bit sooner.

Pent up expectation is fulfilled in the delightful second act, which consists of a series of bedroom hopping scenes complete with confusing phone calls (here Whitehead is in his glory), collapsing furniture, and enough slapstick to satisfy those who remember “Room Service” and “Hellzapoppin.”

Carson Elrod, Nicole Lawrence, Sarah Manton and Claire Karpen

It is also in the second act that the cast’s comic skills come to the fore: Hart and Manton have a wonderfully awkward conversation about sex as Whitehead attempts to deal with having been evicted from his bed; Greer finally gets to do more than moan as he attempts to deal with the invasion of his character’s bedroom; and Elrod reveals his inner Stan Laurel.

Is the controlled insanity of the second act worth the wait? Absolutely. It’s comic catharsis.  

“Bedroom Farce” runs through September 13. For tickets or more information call 203-227-4177 or go to www.westportplayhouse.org.

A Madcap Misfire

Murder for Two -- Long Wharf Theatre -- Thru Aug. 30

Summer used to be re-run time on television, when the networks ran shows you’d already seen just to fill time. At Long Wharf Theatre, summer has been “fill time,” when the theater’s creative staff takes a break and brings in packaged shows to keep the lights on and, hopefully, the seats filled. This time around, it’s Murder for Two, an Agatha Christie spoof of sorts, with music, that’s been all around the country, including Broadway. It’s easy to see why this 90-minute mélange of silliness is so often produced: a relatively simple unit set and a cast of two indefatigable actors. If nothing else it’s easy on the production pocketbook. Whether it’s entertaining remains to be seen.

The premise is pure Christie: a host of characters is brought together at a creaky old mansion, there’s a murder and everyone becomes a suspect. The twist is, a la The Mystery of Irma Vep, that all of the characters are played by the two actors: Ian Lowe plays the detective (who’s not really a detective yet), and Kyle Branzel has the Herculean task of playing all of the suspects: the wife of the writer who has been murdered, a dysfunctional couple who are neighbors, a psychiatrist, a ballerina, the writer’s niece, three choir boys and an Irish fireman (don’t ask). Except for the choir boys (bargain basement Dead End Kids), they are all suspects because they’ve all been featured, warts and all, in the writer’s novels: hence, the motive for murder.

The evening gets off to a shaky start mainly because exposition, i.e., establishment of the characters and their relationships, must be delivered by the two actors, with most of the task falling to Branzel (his only prop is a pair of black horned-rim glasses). It is, to say the least, a bit confusing, made more so when the actors speak over each other, creating a verbal stew that’s difficult to digest. Branzel uses body language and voice modulation to create the characters but it takes a while to sort out exactly which mannerism denotes which character.

Things finally settle down, at least with regards to who is whom, and the play proceeds with the usual gathering of facts and red herrings, all punctuated by songs that while tuneful are hardly memorable. To add to the actors’ tasks, they both must play the piano to accompany the songs (this they do quite well, with more than a touch of Victor Borge and Chico Marx in their playing styles).

The first 40 minutes of the show seem to drag a bit, but after there’s a second murder the silliness is stepped up a bit. There’s a running joke about cell phones ringing, a member of the audience is enticed onto the stage to play the second murder victim, the choir boys get to sing about all the horrible things they have seen, the Irish fireman (perhaps the high point of the evening) appears with his “hose” and does his River Dance shtick and the dead writer’s widow finally gets to do her big number (I guess you can call it the 11 o’clock number). Cats screech, lights flash, things crash, glitter confetti falls and, eventually, the mystery is solved, as if anyone in the audience really cares.

The basic problem with Murder for Two is that it is a skit that goes on for too long. Writers Joe Kinosian and Kellen Blair (Kinosoian wrote the music, Blair the lyrics) had a good though not original premise, and they throw in some knowing film and Broadway allusions, and there are some truly funny moments, and hopefully Branzel and Lowe are getting paid triple-time for their efforts, but the show seems mired in its premise and, save for the fireman and the choir boys, it just goes around and around in an eventually tiresome circle. There’s something a bit off-putting about farce that tries too hard to be funny.

Murder for Two runs through Saturday, Aug, 30. For tickets or more information call 203-787-4282 or go to www.longwharf.org.

In the Heat of the Music

"Memphis" -- Ivoryton Playhouse -- Thru Aug. 30

Carson Higgins (center) and the cast of Memphis. All photos by Roger Williams

The Ivoryton Playhouse is following up its stellar production of South Pacific with another musical that deals with racial tension. Memphis, winner of the 2010 Tony for Best Musical, is based on the life of Dewey Phillips, a Memphis disc jockey who was one of the first white DJs to play “black” music. The production (with Dream Girls in its DNA and Show Boat in its family tree), here directed and choreographed by Todd Underwood, boasts music by David Bryan (Bon Jovi’s keyboardist) and book and lyrics by Joe DiPietro (who also penned I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change and All Shook Up). In its current manifestation, the Ivoryton production is an entertaining, deftly staged two hours of ballads, Gospel and Rock ‘N Roll, framed by an inter-racial love story and the burgeoning civil rights movement of the 1950s. Given some minor technical problems that will be ironed out, it is sure to please audiences as much as South Pacific did.

Memphis opens with two DJs, one white, one black (on balconies stage right and left, compliments of scenic designer Martin Scott Marchitto), introducing music that illustrates the divide that existed in the early 50s: there is mainstream “white” music that fills the airways (think Perry Como and Patti Page) and then there is what is politely termed “racial” music (there are other, more pejorative terms for it). The white DJ is broadcasting on a station located “in the middle of the dial,” while the black DJ is on a station whose frequency puts it at the end of the dial (If you ask “What dial?” talk with your grandparents).

In essence, racial music is segregated, for, to borrow from Meredith Wilson’s The Music Man, there’s a fear that what is being purveyed will “grab your son and your daughter / With the arms of a jungle animal instink! / Mass-staria!” The lyrics and the pulsing beat of “racial” music often speak to sexual desires and fulfillment (versus Page’s cooing about the cost of a “doggie in the window”). There’s a need to “Scratch my Itch,” and in mid-century Memphis “itches” were seldom spoken of and the scratching of same in an inter-racial relationship was anathema.

As a side-bar, audience members of a certain age (I’m thinking here primarily of Millennials) may find some of the implied tensions and allusions in Memphis a bit confusing or opaque. It’s not that racial problems have disappeared, (current headlines put the lie to that supposition), but things have changed, and the sight of an inter-racial couple walking hand-in-hand down the street no longer has the visceral impact it once did, nor are there laws on the books that ban miscegenation. DiPietro has chosen, and wisely so, not to turn Memphis into a polemic, thus leaving many things not fully explained (either emotionally or intellectually) for those who have no memory of Selma, Rosa Parks or “White Only” water fountains. Again, if you are of a certain age and are planning to attend, you would do well to do so with your grandparents, then take them out to dinner and ask a lot of questions. You might be surprised at their answers.

The DJ lead-in is followed by a night at “Delray’s,” a black bar owned by Delray (Terren Carter) that features “racial” music, much of it sung by Delray’s sister, Felicia (Renee Jackson) as lead singer. The crowd goes suddenly silent as a door opens and Huey (the charismatic Carson Higgins) enters, the silence engendered because Huey is white. Patrons scramble to leave, but Huey rushes to a piano to explain that their music is “The Music of My Soul.” Thus, the conflict is established early: Delray doesn’t buy “Whitey’s” protestations and senses only trouble brewing, while Huey is attracted not only to the music but also to Felicia.

Renee Jackson

Huey has been something of a non-entity, but his attraction to “racial” music becomes his ticket to a certain amount of local fame and fortune, for he parlays his proclivities into, first, a job selling records, and then a spot as a DJ on one of the local “white” radio stations owned by Mr. Simmons (Beau Allen), a pragmatic businessman. He spins rock ‘n roll platters rather than schmaltz, and the response, especially amongst the youth of Memphis, is overwhelmingly positive. Soon, Huey has his own TV dance show (with black dancers) and is deep in a relationship with Felicia, much to the initial consternation of his mother Gladys (Melodie Wolford). Huey and Felicia are, of course, star-crossed lovers, and while Felicia goes on to fame, fortune and a national tour, Huey’s star fades, while that of Richard (i.e. “Dick) Clark rises. (Who’s Dick Clark? Ask your grandparents). Yet, there is a final recognition of what Huey has accomplished when Felicia, back in Memphis on tour, asks him to share the stage with her, leading to the rousing “Steal Your Rock ‘N Roll” finale.

Melodie Wolford and Carson Higgins

That all of this works, and works so well, is, first, a credit to Underwood, who keeps things moving and has managed to utilize every inch of the somewhat limited Ivoryton stage space. It all seems bigger than it really is, and this is because Underwood understands how best to utilize tight space. In an interview a year ago, when Underwood was choreographing La Cage aux Folles for Ivoryton, he explained that the key is to build “from being just mid-stage to using the entire stage and that will give the illusion the theater is bigger. Of course, lighting helps and costumes help, and keeping the number building and moving, making sure that it doesn’t become stagnant.” His philosophy is apparent in the many ensemble numbers in Memphis, no more so than in the finale, which has multiple “builds.”

One of the director’s jobs is to focus the audience’s attention, to basically tell them what to look at, and proof of Underwood’s skill in doing this is a dance scene that takes place at the television studio. The dancers are center stage, with the TV camera lower stage right, but the script calls for a minor dramatic interaction between some of the major characters. This could have been visually confusing, but what Underwood does is have the camera shift up stage, drawing the dancers away to form a diagonal line with their backs to the audience as other actors move into the center stage area. It’s a nifty piece of blocking that continues the dance while manipulating focus. 

As good as Underwood is, Ivoryton’s Memphis lives or dies with the talent up there on the stage, and it is, across the board, excellent, starting with Higgins as Huey. He’s awkward when necessary, geeky, and often self-deprecating, yet Higgins gives Huey an essential joie de vivre that is entrancing and engaging, an unbridled enthusiasm for life and the music that allows him to overcome put-downs, violence and prejudice. There may be some in the audience who may not, initially, buy the character’s apparent cluelessness about the nature of race relations in mid-century Memphis (or his illiteracy), and it does take a little suspension of disbelief to accept that his guilelessness is not feigned, but Higgins, with his “Aw, shucks” manner, manages to pull it off.

As Huey’s love interest, Jackson is both sensual and restrained, ably conveying the frustrations of a black woman even considering a relationship with a white man in the mid-century culture of the South. The only problem with her performance is a technical one – it’s a sound problem. Often her dialogue is a bit mushy, and it’s often difficult to understand the lyrics when she is singing (also true for many of the other actors) – and many of the lyrics are intrinsic to an understanding of what is going on. This is not the fault of the actor but rather that of the technical staff which, most likely, is aware of the problem and will resolve same (this was just the second preview and, from what I understand, tech rehearsals never got to run through the entire show). There are also some problems with projected images (which seem superfluous) – meant to present visual reminders of the era, many look more like gray blobs.

Jamal Shuriah, David Robbins, Garrett Turner, Kevin Moeti and Taavon Gamble

Supporting cast members add style and flair to the production, and many have their moments in the spotlight. There’s Bobby (David Robbins), an erstwhile janitor who is thrust onto the stage of Huey’s TV show and delivers a powerful and moving “Big Love.” Then there’s Gator (Jamal Shuriah), who plays a mute (going silent as a child after seeing his father being lynched) who finally bursts into song with the heartfelt “Say a Prayer.” And not to be missed is Wolford as Huey’s mom, a lady who is changed by her son’s advocacy and the fervor of the parishioners of a local black church, which leads her to the rousing “Change Don’t Come Easy.”

Finally, Carter, as Felicia’s brother, is the whetstone against which Huey must sharpen his sensitivities about what he is doing and the realities of race relations circa 1950. Carter gives us a Delray that is a strong mixture of controlled rage and compassion, and basically stops the show near the end of Act One with his rendition of “She’s My Sister.”

Yes, there are stereotypes and the plot seldom rises above that of a soap opera, but this isn’t supposed to be Ibsen or Williams, it’s a musical, and as such it deals with racial tensions and discrimination in a format that, while thought-provoking, seeks to entertain. And, yes, there’s a message, but DiPietro isn’t didactic, and Underwood has opted to let the book speak for itself without feeling compelled to drive home a point.

What he has done, with the help of some very effective lighting by Doug Harry and Marchitto’s versatile, fluid set (which evokes a dance club, several radio stations, a kitchen, an apartment and a TV station), is give us a basic story line punctuated by musical set-pieces that capture an era and all of its inherent tensions, delights and frustrations, and as for build, besides the aforementioned finale, all you have to do is sit back and watch Act Two’s multi-layered “Tear Down the House” to enjoy how a musical number can entertain, advance the plot and play on your emotions all at the same time. It’s a fine piece of work by all involved, as is Memphis.

Memphis runs through Aug.30. For tickets or more information call 860-767-7318 or go to www.ivorytonplayhouse.org.