 |
| Quite
bawdy: (l-r) Becky Webber, Julian Whitely, Kyle Schaefer
and McCaela Donovan in Candide. |
All
for the Best
By
James Yeara
Candide
Music
by Leonard Bernstein, book adapted from Voltaire by Hugh Wheeler,
lyrics by Richard Wilbur with additional lyrics by Stephen
Sondheim and John LaTouche, directed by Ralph Tetillo, musical
direction by Matthew Stern
Berkshire Theatre Festival, Unicorn Theatre, Stockbridge,
Mass., through Aug. 15
It’s wholly fitting that, while standing at a urinal post-show
and after determining that I was a critic (a process best
left to the imagination), an erstwhile patron declared, “It
was an excellent production and people should see it; write
that.” Several other patrons concurred. It’s the best of all
possible recommendations for Berkshire Theatre Festival’s
production of Candide, and a singular occurrence (thankfully)
in my 20 years of reviewing.
While the Leonard Bernstein musical has thrilled audiences
since Candide’s premiere in 1957, the comic operetta
flopped, and the show’s book has gone under several metamorphoses
from the Tony Award-winning 1974 Hal Prince-directed production,
which streamlined Lillian Hellman’s book. Subsequent productions
seem to pick and choose the juiciest bits, and BTF has conceived
a fast-paced, “quite bawdy” (as a patron sitting behind me
exclaimed after the opening number) and totally arch production
that amuses, pleases, and, occasionally, touches an audience
with the excellence of the voices.
Under the tight direction of Ralph Petillo (in his BTF directorial
debut after his Dickensian roles in A Christmas Carol and
Oliver!), BTF’s version fairly flies from scene to scene,
narrated by Dr. Pangloss (an able and rubbery-faced Ben Rosenblatt
with sufficient comic glee). Pangloss’ overly optimistic philosophy,
“This is the best of all possible worlds,” acts as the satirical
spine of Candide in all its permutations. The perfect
set by scenic designer Erin E. Kiernan, a blue, red, yellow,
green, and orange multilevel jungle gym, complete with ladders
and rotating boxes—only the slide and the rope ladder were
missing—gives the nimble cast of 20 plenty of choice entrances,
exits, and lazzi to keep Candide flowing; costume designer
Jessica Risser-Milne starts the cast off in private school
uniforms, which the amorous Dr. Pangloss takes full and frequent
advantage of. Candide is full of conjugations and copulations
of all sorts, both with its irregular verbs and pluperfect
versions. The stagecraft in general is as tight as the musical’s
action is sprawling.
The acting throughout is energetic and big; the ensemble members
are fantastic in flipping from exaggerated comic expressions—almost
like Commedia masks—to serious deadpan as the need be, whether
as horny students, apt pupils, ravaging soldiers, randy pirates
and prelates, mercantile prostitutes, or unscrupulous merchants.
Becky Webber is nimble as the bodacious maid Paquette, launching
herself full-bore into every scene. Her energy and focus are
shared by Kyle Schaefer as the fabulously handsome and narcissistic
Maximillian and Julia Broder as The Old Woman with one buttock
(a great sight gag that Broder uses to full advantage). Julian
Whitley is in great voice as Candide, and shows that he has
mastered the deadpan expression and, in the essential role
of Candide’s love interest/raison d’etre Cunegonde,
McCaela Donovan embodies the acting aesthetic at work here,
flipping from deadpan to fully embracing the emotion, then
back to deadpan. Donovan has that Kristen Chenoweth quality,
presenting sweet naivety one second and wild horniness the
next, all in a diminutive package. (Full disclosure: It turns
out that I directed McCaela Curran, her maiden name, in a
high-school production of The Secret Garden 10 years
ago; she looks a bit different now and has gotten married,
hence the new last name.)
The singing throughout is very good, but highlights are Cunegonde’s
“Glitter and Be Gay,” in which Donovan gets to display both
her lovely soprano and comic timing, the company’s “Auto Da
Fe,” a Monty Pythonish play on the pleasures of the Spanish
Inquisition, and any number of a capella moments scattered
throughout this Candide. A splendid time is guaranteed
for all, as a patron at the urinal would attest.
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