Boston Conservatory goes The Full Monty

The guys get ready to "Let it Go."

I admit, I felt like a dirty old man going in.  A college production of The Full Monty?  I can blame it on the partner unit, of course (it was his idea!), but seriously . . . he didn't have to nudge me all that hard, I confess.

And now, what's worse, I have to let everybody know I was there, because . . . well, because it was just about the best large-ensemble musical I've seen in these parts since Candide (which we only speak of now in hushed, hallowed tones).  I'm not kidding.  The Boston Conservatory kids definitely went the full monty with The Full Monty.  Yeah, the notorious split-second of actual nudity was there (in a blast of backlight!), but that's not really what I'm talking about.  What I'm talking about is a crackling, top-notch production by a crowd of young talents (male and female) that bested the professional versions I've seen of this show.  Yeah.  That's what I'm talkin' about.

Director Laura Marie Duncan (Boston Conservatory '94) was actually in the original Broadway cast, and while her production never felt like slavish imitation, it was also clear that her experience had given her the edge of knowing the show inside and out; there was a level of attention to detail here that's rare in Boston direction - Duncan found moments, in fact, that I hadn't imagined you could find in this material.

But then I admit I'm not that big a fan of The Full Monty anyway (although after sitting through Next to Normal, I admit it's looking better and better in retrospect).  Its chief flaw, which it shares with so many other new and newish musicals, is a so-so score - and then there's the fact that its plot slowly abandons the gritty edge of its supposed premise (the collapsing economic and social status of men) and begins to grind against the limits of its soft-core marketing tease. Will they take it all off?  Will they take it all off?  There are only so many way you can ask that question, and The Full Monty basically works them all; and would we smile so broadly at a musical that giggled about women being forced to become strippers?  Somehow I don't think so.

But if Terrence McNally's book in the end only does lip service to the social and sexual issues it pretends to raise - well, McNally is nevertheless an old gay Broadway pro, and has, as they say, a talent to amuse; so Monty, studded as it is with jokes and asides and show-bizzy gambits, does mostly amuse; indeed, I think through its patina of raunch you can still perceive, if you squint a little, the tatty razzle-dazzle of the likes of Hello, Dolly!

I suppose all that was neither here nor there to the kids of Boston Conservatory, however; they just wanted to put on a good show - and they did (and then some). Led by the dynamic Keith White as ringleader Jerry, the central sextet of regular Buffalo guys who don, then doff, thongs for the first time - Stephen Markarian, Daniel Plimpton, Trevor Hannigan, Shayne Kennon and Avery Smith - were all solid gold, and they were backed by compelling turns from Meryn Beckett, Niki Sawyer, and Margaret Lamb as the women in (and half out of) their lives. Meanwhile Corey Mosello was hotness incarnate as the stripper whose act first gives the boys their bright idea, and sixth grader Andrew Horowitz was poised and affecting as Jerry's mortified son Nathan. But the show was probably stolen by Hayley Lovgren's hilarious portrayal of the grizzled rehearsal pianist Jeanette; somehow this college student channeled perfectly the gonzo, possibly bonkers optimism of every showbiz survivor everywhere.

Meanwhile down in the pit, the band was tight, as everything - set, costumes, choreography - clicked nicely onstage. Indeed, the only thing not to like about this Full Monty is that, well, it's over; Boston Conservatory productions generally only run a weekend. Which I'm sure leaves quite a few of our local theater companies sleeping a little easier at night.

Carolyn Miller in One Touch of Venus.

Marlene Dietrich famously quit the lead role of One Touch of Venus because it was "too sexy and profane." My hunch, however, is that vocally it was too demanding for the diva's under-developed pipes (the role made her understudy, Mary Martin, a star).  The tunes, after all, were by the great Kurt Weill - while the lyrics were by the witty Ogden Nash, who co-authored the book with S. J. Perelman!  With a pedigree like that, you knew I had to check out the glimpse of Venus being offered this weekend by the Boston Conservatory (it only runs till Sunday).

I was very glad I did.  The show is awfully sexy, if far more urbane than profane, and that comes through in Stacey Stephen's affectionate, rambunctious staging.  Not for Stephens the affectations of the postmodern academy; this is straight 40's Broadway, with no conceptual chaser, and while we've all been taught that One Touch of Venus should therefore strike us as a dusty museum piece, instead it seems vibrant and wonderful, and kind of timeless.  The show (a fantasy about a statue that comes to life) has its flaws - it rambles and is awkwardly structured (the first half's too long, the second too short) - but then what do you expect from Ogden Nash and S. J. Perelman?  This Venus may not be streamlined, but she makes up for it with ribald wit (but then what do you expect from Ogden Nash, etc.) as well as haunting standards like "West Wind," "I'm a Stranger Here Myself," "One Touch of Venus" and especially the smoky "Speak Low."

Plus there's a novelty song about New Jersey, and another about a serial killer (this is Kurt Weill, after all), plus two ballet numbers - and the Boston Conservatory cast is game for the whole thing, and really pulls the whole thing off.  Not everyone in this cast is a triple threat - a few are better singers or dancers than they are actors; but several of them are, actually, triple threats, and the whole show is imbued with a refreshing sheen of youthful energy and talent.  And down in the pit, the orchestra sounds great - too loud (as is always the case in this theatre), but great.  If you're in the mood this weekend for a literate treat written by talented adults, and performed by an eager crew of fresh-faced up-and-comers, trust me - do yourself a favor, and get in touch with Venus.

Todd triumphant

This is just a quick note regarding Boston Conservatory's current production of Sweeney Todd, which completes its one-weekend run this Sunday in the Conservatory's brand-new, as-yet-unnamed theatre.

Okay - first, the bad news: the new theatre is a wonderful improvement over the tatty, claustrophobic space in which Conservatory students long performed; the seats are comfy, the sight lines good, everything is gleaming and brand-new.  But alas, the space is still somewhat disappointing acoustically.  It seems the rough dimensions of the old theatre remain in place, although now there's a genuine orchestra pit (hurrah!) and the hall has been swathed in dark, high-tech surfaces that we suppose were meant to work some kind of acoustical magic on it.

But wonderful sound has yet to pop out of the acoustician's hat.  The trouble is that even with the new pit, the theatre is afflicted with balance problems - the orchestra's too loud (and the singers are still amplified over it, though not as much as they used to be).  What's more troubling is that loud as it is, the sound feels slightly flat; the place booms, but doesn't resonate.  So I'm not sure simply installing more sound absorption or whatever in the pit is the answer.  It is a puzzlement.  Boston Conservatory reportedly engaged acoustical engineer Larry Kirkegaard, who did the Shalin Liu Hall up in Rockport, to work on the space; somehow I don't think his job is over.  In the meantime, my advice to the orchestra is: play softer.

But the good news is that this production of Sweeney Todd is quite memorable, and I would advise Sondheim fans to run out and grab tickets, only there aren't any - the show sold out weeks ago.  There were a few odd artistic decisions here and there in the acting (neither the Judge nor his Beadle seemed at all formidable), but leads Robert Lance Mooney and Julie Thomas (above left) sang and acted superbly in notoriously challenging roles - although intriguingly, they traced different arcs over the course of the show.  As Mrs. Lovett, Thomas was all comic bustle, to hilariously detailed effect - but she didn't seem in touch with the darker aspects of the role (particularly during "Not While I'm Around," sung quite affectingly by Dan Rosales, when she should be contemplating murder).  Meanwhile Mooney, who seemed a bit withdrawn at first, blossomed in the second half to truly operatic heights of intensity.  There were other strong turns from Mike Heslin as Anthony, Marissa Miller as Johanna, and Daniel George as Pirelli.  And it was wonderful, after years of stripped-down chamber versions, to hear the great Jonathan Tunick's original orchestrations (even if at too high a volume).

The artistic idea that seemed to be in director Neil Donohoe's sights was the ongoing question of whether Sweeney Todd counts as musical or grand opera.  It is, of course, about 75% sung-through, I think - but on the other hand, its musical style isn't always operatic; Sondheim switches from opera to operetta to music hall and back again at a moment's notice.  And the work is probably best sung by singers with Broadway training - which essentially covers technical resources with a casual, I'm-just-tossing-this-off-like-a-regular-guy kind of articulation.  Still, what Donohoe and this cast demonstrated is that in its climaxes, Sweeney Todd reaches the musical and emotional intensity we expect of grand opera - in fact, it eclipses quite a few works in the repertory.  And much of the show was a dark hoot, to boot.  It was the kind of Conservatory production one wishes could find a longer life in some other space around town.  The only thing it really needed - like grand opera - was super-titles.  Sondheim's lyrics are just too delicious to miss, and some of them always are, even in halls with clearer acoustics than this one.  Can we all decide on that in the future?  Sweeney (and maybe all Sondheim) needs super-titles to be super.

Another new kid on the block

I've been remiss in not mentioning that we actually have yet another new theatre in town - the "Hemenway Project," designed by Handel Architects, at the Boston Conservatory (above).  As the Conservatory's old performance space had gotten so tatty I sometimes actually couldn't face seeing shows there, I'm very excited about the new venue.  And you should be, too.  An opening celebration is scheduled for the weekend of Oct. 13-16, with free guided tours for the public on Saturday, Oct. 16, and a tribute to Tommy Tune on the boards that evening, featuring Conservatory alum Chad Kimball (of Memphis fame).  More info is available here.

Follies redux

Why is it productions of landmark musicals so often come in pairs? A few seasons back we were treated to duelling Candides, and now, fast on the heels of the Lyric Stage's "chamber" version of Follies (original poster at left), there's a full-scale rendition of the famous Sondheim juggernaut at Boston Conservatory this weekend, with a crack student cast. Only this time out, the huge production numbers are given their elaborate due, and the sheer size and scope of the show validate Sondheim's (and Hal Prince's) ambitions in a way the Lyric couldn't hope to do. Still, Boston Conservatory commits a few "follies" of its own in producing Follies.

The Conservatory's physical plant - i.e., its theatre - is famously inadequate to the demands of the shows presented there, and this time, the large orchestra required is plunked down right before the stage (no, there's no pit), requiring that all the singers be miked. Which results in not only a gulf between audience and performer, but a very loud sound mix with frequent balance problems. Intriguingly, the echo from the mikes sometimes conjured just the right atmosphere of eerie reminiscence - but in general, the kids on stage deserved much better than this. (The president of Boston Conservatory spoke before the curtain to inform us that help is on the way, in the form of an extensive renovation, but money is still needed - more info on how to help is here.)

But if you can stand all the blare, there are several vocal performances to savor here, and some strong acting and dancing, too. For once all the songs were in the right key, and high top notes posed no problem for the cast (o rare!). "Beautiful Girls," "Who's That Woman?," and in particular the extended "Loveland" sequence were transformed by the forces marshalled to put them over, and were aided immeasurably by Michelle Chassé's apt choreography (particularly in the gigantic tap number) and David Cabral's gorgeous, Ziegfeldesque costumes. Director Neil Donohoe didn't keep the long first half in tight-enough focus (I almost wished the Lyric's Spiro Veloudos had dropped by to crack the whip), but he had intriguing ideas for "Loveland" (including a poignantly ironic tableau for "Losing My Mind"), and managed well the interpolation of past and present that is so central to the show's haunting effect.

It would be unfair to review student performances against professional standards - except I think it's also unfair to ignore students when they surpass those standards; so I'll pass out bouquets to several of these young performers. The two female leads were both startlingly strong - Lauren Lukacek gave Sally Durant an almost frighteningly perky romantic naiveté, while Hannah Jane McMurray styled the even trickier Phyllis Rogers into a kind of glamorous ice sculpture. The leading men didn't fare as well, but while one of them, Bud Webber, didn't find his feet until his role turned to pure song and dance, once it did he was all appealing energy. There were similarly engaging turns in the famous novelty numbers by Haley Selmon, Babs Rubenstein and Lindsey Larson, as well as a spirited one from Kristina Elizabeth Morales that was somewhat undermined by her mike. All in all, there was enough sparkle on stage to make up for the occasional stumble, and those with a hankering to see Follies in something like the shape its creators intended are advised to hustle on over to Hemenway St. - you may never get another chance like this one.