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French
for Sarcasm
By James Yeara
Jacques
Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris
Based
on Jacques Brel’s lyrics and commentary, music by Jacques
Brel; production conception, English lyrics and additional
material by Eric Blau and Mort Shuman, directed by Gordon
Greenberg, musical direction by Eric Svejcar, Capital Repertory
Theatre, through Feb. 8
For theaters, January is the coldest, cruelest month: Most
reserve the month for light fare, musical revues, and old
chestnuts. Artistic directors select shows that require little
thought from their audiences, seemingly in belief that people
brave the cold only for the familiar, the simple, and the
unchallenging. Capital Repertory Theatre has followed this
formula in the past, but their current production of the 1960s
classic Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris
not only melts the formula, it scorches it.
This is full-bodied theatre, robust and intended for the sophisticated
palate, yet rich in humor and archly presented. This is a
production that eschews tepid qualifiers and middling responses:
It’s must-hear-and-see theatre for the passionate aficionado
and the neophyte who just loves great singing and performing.
Nothing is timid about director Gordon Greenberg’s concept
or the supporting stagecraft from set designer Rob Bissinger
and lighting designer Traci Klainer. Bissinger’s false proscenium—gears,
sprockets, springs, cogs, and the roman numerals of a shattered
clock face done in faded brass—frame the foreground of this
Jacques Brel well; a series of 21 picture frames of
various sizes hung asymmetrically, their canvases changing
color with the temperament of the songs, makes for the perfect
background. A blood-red-velvet chaise lounge downcenter, a
worn brown leather armchair upleft with a beaded lamp casting
musky shadows, and Klainer’s lighting plot create the perfect
ambiance for Jacques Brel: the smoky hues of a Parisian
cabaret. In short, the setting is beautiful. You want to sit
back, sip a heady Cabernet, roll your own cigarette, and sing
along.
But don’t, for the singing and the performing shouldn’t be
missed. Director Greenberg’s cast of four (Don Brewer, Lisa
Capps, Jay Montgomery, and the stunning Gay Marshall, who
sings as if each song were a longing glance exchanged with
a former lover standing next to her current husband), and
the three-person band—listening to Eric Svejcar, Michael Wiks,
and Rob Cenci’s musicianship is reason alone to brave even
Arctic temperatures—are the equal of the stagecraft’s excellence.
Cast and band make love to the 24 songs of the revue, creating
one highlight after another. The audience is left breathing
hard, satisfied, but still longing for more. Marshall in particular
exhibits the old-fashion aesthetic that songs should be sung
to convey emotions, and should not simply be a series of notes
to be hit with such force that they simulate emotion. This
is one of a handful of shows that I could see again and again,
finding new moments to fall in love with.
Because Jacques Brel at Capital Rep is no simple song
recital. The power of Brel is the breadth of his music and
the themes of songs, which may account for his songs being
covered by artists as diverse as Sinatra, Bono, Bowie, and
Sting. Brel can be the essence of heartache, as with “The
Desperate Ones”: “They’ve burned their hearts so much/That
death is just a game/And if love calls again/So foolishly
they run/They run without a sound/The desperate ones.” This
song is wisely staged with each performer sharing the stage
with the others only by sidelong glances or averted eyes,
or looks of longing behind the back—yet always alone.
Brel also stings with his antiwar songs, particularly “Sons
Of” and “Maieke.” When Marshall sings with her dewy-eyed brilliance
and voice like fine whiskey, “Some went to war, some never
came home/Sons of your sons or sons passing by/Children we
lost in lullabies . . . ,” Brel’s respect for and heartbreak
over the dead create tears to be surreptitiously wiped away
in the audience. These songs are more than timely today. This
is the soundtrack for pre-emptive war.
But Brel can be devastatingly funny, and truly sarcastic
(which means “biting flesh” and was once reserved for that
turn of phrase that nipped the complacent, the compliant and
the powerful; it should not be mistaken for the facetious
or lighthearted comments that the humorless mistakenly decry
as sarcasm). Musicals are facetious; Jacques Brel is
sarcastic. Brel bites and means to: In “Jackie,” Montgomery
almost coyly sings “If I could be for an hour every day/If
I could be for just one little hour/Cute, cute, cute in a
stupid-ass way,” hitting squarely the silliness of musical
lovers.
Even more pointed is the song “The Middle Class” with its
chorus, “The middle class are just like pigs/The older they
get, the dumber they get/The middle class are just like pigs/The
fatter they get, the less they regret.” The song was greeted
with initial silence by its middle-class audience, until the
final refrain when the chorus circles back on its singers.
It’s a moment that, like every other moment in Capital Rep’s
excellent production, earns its richly deserved reaction.
Grab your beret and see it today.
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