Critique: Kiss of the Spider Woman at KLPAC

Posting long overdue. Let’s get cracking.

For those of you who may have read the review and thought I was being too nice, I explain my reasons in the ‘About’ page. The gist: Reviews are written when online articles stand a chance of affecting ticket sales and audience awareness. So, I highlight all the best parts of the performance. Critiques are written after the run has ended or when the period for online review searches has dimmed i.e. it’s time to get real and face the truth about the performance.

So, a condition: for creative team members or cast members who have stumbled onto this part of the interweb and are delicate to online comments (and who isn’t?), leave now.

The critique will be broken down into two parts. The first part will be a critique of the show itself; the book be Terrence McNally, the music by John Kander, lyrics by Fred Ebb. The second part will be a critique of the production in KLPAC.

The Show

And Chita Rivera has never looked better. That is Chita, right?

Spider Woman is a very weak show. One of the problems with this show is that Kander and Ebb have written songs that, while tuneful and enjoyable on their own, are mediocre compared to their usual standard. It’s almost derivative in comparison.

Another problem is that the show’s subject matter is too dark for the score. I understand that it’s a score that creates a comment or contrast on the story: the happy fantasies versus gritty truth. But, the score is too lightweight and rather than form a disturbing counterpoint, the music encourages audiences to leave the story behind and focus on the music only, which is a bad thing.

A third problem (there are four) is that the songs are unconnected from the story at many points. The way the show is written, it is meant to be a show where the songs don’t so much integrate into the direct action as make a comment (like I said above). But, this is very poorly done here. It often feels like the story could benefit from simply writing a scene that takes place in the jail cell. Instead, the writers duck out by writing a song that makes a vague comment through a cinematic fantasy. The story becomes vague as well as a result.

The overall or main problem with Kiss of the Spider Woman is that it is ultimately mediocre. And not mediocre in the way an inexperienced writer would be mediocre, but mediocre in that way where the pros are not really trying. The show feels so tired, it is almost cynical. The writers make no attempt at writing truly original characters or music. Reusing old techniques is perfectly alright, but the thing has to be truly good. The stuff we see in this show has been done in far better ways by previous shows, many written by Kander and Ebb themselves. Therefore, the weakness in this show seems even more unforgivable than usual.

The Production

The first issue I had with the production was that it did not have a strong enough visual concept. The show had to transition back and forth from jail cell to fantasy but very little is given to help indicate this to the audience. In the first fantasy, it was not clear it was a fantasy. In the song that followed, where the inmates are singing, there was no clear jump back to reality, leaving this critic thinking it was still the fantasy (NB: The fact that a synopsis was available to the audience is a moot point; if you can’t show me on stage, it doesn’t matter). The lighting in this respect was sufficient to indicate scene changes, but not adequate to reveal changes in reality.

The acting in the show was simplistic. Again, like the lighting, sufficient but not adequate. There wasn’t enough depth in the characterisation to bind the show’s elements together.  The accents from the actors were very inconsistent. There were American, British, Malaysian, international (i.e. Malaysian faking American accent) accents, which added to the alienating effect of the show in a detrimental way. I would have preferred uniform accents, even if all were Malaysian. At least then, I could imagine the show as taking place in Malaysia.

The cast,overall, were talented and I thought they could sing. But, they had very little technique. Now, I’ve never had a singing lesson in my life; I only know the basic stuff from around. So, for someone like me to pick up on the bad technique says a lot. One of the actors (I won’t say who) sang in a way that no air passed through the nose, and instead of creating a deep basso and avoiding nasal singing, the voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. I’m personally terrified of this person losing their voice.

The two leads had no chemistry. I had no idea at any point in the show that Molina was becoming attached to Valentin romantically, which resulted in the sex scene becoming an almost-jarring development. Whether this is the fault of direction or acting ability is unknown of course (and I won’t guess), but one other factor contributing is casting. The actor playing Valentin did not appear to be the kind of person who could physically (and therefore emotionally) dominate Molina. Whereas the actor playing Molina was too confident, too self-assured and (you know it’s coming) too tall for someone like Valentin to intimidate him.

One other role that was severely miscast was Aurora, the Spider Woman. I still hold, as in my review, that the actor playing Aurora is talented. But that is beside the point. Aurora is a role that requires a specific type of actor; she has to be a star. I’m not suggesting that Aurora has to be played by a big name (but it would help). What I’m saying is that the actor playing Aurora has to have the quality of a star performer, which is being able to pull focus. Aurora had to almost overpower everyone else on stage and magnetise the audience to her. She had to mesmerise the audience with whatever she’s got and help the audience believe that Aurora was such a star that could exert the kind of destructive pull on Molina’s imagination that was central to the show. We had to see her as Molina saw her. And all of that has very little to do with actually being talented (this problem had actually made its way into the Malaysian production of Dreamgirls, which I will probably revisit later).

I’ve already gone through the positive aspects of the production in my review, so I won’t go through it here. Overall, the cast had talent and the people involved in the production certainly do as well. But, having the ability and getting it right are unfortunately two very different things, especially in musicals. And choose a better show.

 

Malaysian Theatre Critic

Breaking Broadway Down: Rodgers and Hammerstein

Taking it up the mainstream. The show-by-show analysis takes way too much of my time and also I kind of ran out of steam after tearing Wicked down and putting it back together. So, we’ll go by songwriting team today. This post isn’t really a deconstruction. It’s partly a minor overview of their history and partly an observation on what factors contribute to the creative output of a particular team.

First though, an introduction on Rodgers and Hammerstein. Not that they need one. Pretty sure everyone has at least seen this before:

TWIRL! TWIRL FOR YOUR LIFE oh wait that’s The Little Mermaid on Broadway…

Most people think of this lady when they think Rodgers & Hammerstein. Heck, most would think of this lady when they think musicals. I’ve very nearly forgotten how powerfully represented this film is among the ordinary folk. But, for those who don’t know, Rodgers and Hammerstein go far beyond this landmark film.

In the same way Henrik Ibsen’s realist theatre influences almost everything in theatre, film and television today, Rodgers and Hammerstein influences almost every single musical that has come out since they wrote their first show. Every musical written today will at some point ask the question: Is the music moving the plot of the show? This question was made necessary because of the success of Oklahoma!, R&H’s first collaboration.

 

So, because of this show, almost all musicals today have songs that aim to further the story and to create an understanding of the characters. Even a jukebox musical like Mamma Mia! isn’t immune to the R&H effect, because it doesn’t exactly sing whatever songs it likes for the audience the way shows used to in the ’30s. Rather, they pretend that the songs are integrated. So the show is less ‘carefree enjoyment’ and more ‘tongue-in-cheek tourist fare’. As far as I know, the only place that regularly churns musicals that isn’t affected by Broadway so much is London due to its history with operetta and concept albums. But that’s another story.

I’m here to talk about something very curious about Rodgers and Hammerstein. They began life as an experimental songwriting team, yet today are remembered for its consistently structured shows and familiar sentiment. Partly, it’s because a lot of their subject matter is contemporary, so perhaps it was interesting at the time, but now not so much. But, I also assumed that it was because of the fact that once you create an experiment and it becomes ubiquitous, it ceases to be interesting or new anymore (I believe the trope is called “Seinfeld is Unfunny“). But that is definitely not the case. After Oklahoma!, the pair wrote Carousel, which was vastly different from the former. The subject matter was heavier (domestic violence, suicide, social outcasts made heroes), no overture, opening song replaced with extended ballet, recitative-like preludes, an entire scene that switched smoothly and repeatedly from speech to song, and this little ditty:

 

Which is the first appearance of the soliloquy in musicals. Take that, Professor Higgins. So clearly, the pair was not resting on their laurels in terms of experiments. And both these shows are still fresh for what they offer.

The staleness really began with South Pacific, a show about a WW2 nurse somewhere in the Pacific. Suddenly, there were no more bold attempts at changing the form. An entire sequence in Act Two is devoted to non-integrated songs. The show was strictly “scene first, finish with song”. And having seen a professional production of this, I can say that almost every song is reprised and not always convincingly done. Some Enchanted Evening is reprised three times, if I recall correctly. This clip is from the opening; believe me, this much gusto and heaviness gets tiring by reprise number 1:

 

So what happened between Carousel and South Pacific? A buried little show called Allegro.

JO-seph TAY-lor (pause) Ju-NIOR.

Allegro is meant to be based on Hammerstein’s experience with success and the changes that occurred in his life. One of it’s major experimental devices was the use of musical snippets rather than full songs to make up the score. The main character is represented by a Greek chorus and doesn’t appear until halfway through Act One. The point we have to gather from this is that it wasn’t a big hit. It drew “5/10″s from the audience, which was a big drop from the two previous smashes.

Still, a lacklustre reception isn’t a good reason to stop experimenting. It wouldn’t make sense to experiment at all if all you wanted was a hit to begin with. But in between Allegro and South Pacific, Richard Rodgers got cold feet. He had transitioned smoothly and succesfully from collaborating with Lorenz Hart to Oscar Hammerstein II and this dip was more than he could handle. And the collaboration was restricted purely to it’s original form, the book musical, that was perfected in Oklahoma!.

With this revelation, it suddenly becomes painfully obvious that citing “Rodgers and Hammerstein” as the pioneers of the Broadway musical is a mistake. Richard Rodgers had writing hits at the forefront of his mind. Which is absolutely fine, but let’s not pretend it has anything to do with changing the art form. Oscar Hammerstein II was the sole driving force behind the integrated musical and the subsequent experiments. I say the form of the book musical was perfected in Oklahoma! because the form was created in Show Boat, an earlier show written by Hammerstein and Jerome Kern, produced by Florenz Ziegfeld.

 

It had moderate success, but not enough to catch on. Which is why Hammerstein wanted to write Oklahoma!; to perfect it. I doubt Hammerstein hurt too much over the ‘failure’ of Allegro, certainly not enough to stop experimenting altogether. His history with Show Boat proves this.

So, if there is any lesson to draw from this (for writers at least), it is to be aware of what forces are driving your team. Hammerstein surely wanted success, but the form was the thing as far as he was concerned. Rodgers was willing to take a backseat to the writing as long as they were hits. Once that stopped, he took the wheel from Hammerstein immediately.

Perhaps that isn’t so bad a thing. After all, it was what led to The Sound of Music, the perennial gateway to future musical lovers. But, I can’t help but look at this part of history and wonder where the form would be now if they hadn’t stopped. Their history is important because if ever there is a writer who finds him- or herself at crossroads with a collaborator, they need to really think if where they’re headed is where they want to be. Hammerstein probably didn’t regret the experiments with form as long as he still had experiments of themes. So, there is still something in there.

But, it is always important to remember that once the train gets going, everything around you will call out different answers; not just producers or audiences, but your own partners and collaborators. At the end of the day, all a writer really has is his or her own principles. Which (ironically?) is the message of Allegro, Hammerstein’s last experiment.

 

 

Malaysian Theatre Critic

Breaking Broadway Down: Wicked

I have one “Like” on Facebook now. Yay.

Today we begin a monthly or bi-monthly (depending on response i.e. comments and likes) feature called Breaking Broadway Down, where I will choose one Broadway show (and by “show”, I mean “musical”) and talk about its interesting features as a show; what makes it work, what weakens it. Or, it may simply be something specific I have to say about the show and its existence.

Our first feature will be on Wicked; book by Winnie Holzman, music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz.

 

Yes, Wicked. If you’re a 10-year-old girl, an ex-fan of Glee (no one sane is still a fan of Glee in the traditional sense; trust me) or if you visited me while I was taking my degree in Law, you definitely know this musical. Its high-flying sets, the green make-up, the vocally-taxing belter numbers, the dragon on the proscenium that does nothing. Essentially an out-of-control fanfic about the MGM film The Wizard of Oz, the original novel by Gregory Maguire makes a hero out of the Wicked Witch of the West and explains her actions in sympathetic light. And everyone’s bisexual. So, of course it’s a musical.

The show quickly built up its current reputation as a sweet show about the outcast girl who stands up for herself and the popular girl who learns to be three-dimensional before the Act 2 finale. Simultaneously, it built its reputation as a mindless spectacle on par with the best (worst) of Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. Let’s get this straight: Wicked is 100% not a mindless spectacle; for every flaw it has story-wise, it has an element of drama and character. So, just because something has a big budget and is well-produced, does not mean it should be written off (hear that, Malaysian Theatre Critic?). Secondly, just because its majority pre-teen fanbase is only aware of a tiny and, quite frankly, insubstantial portion of the show does not mean that that portion represents all its merits.

Ultimately, Wicked never fulfills its potential. The writers had the unenviable task of brushing away the numerous details from the novel to reduce it to a 2-hour-45-minute show. This is a horrid process and having to do it while you are writing and rehearsing is near-impossible, but not impossible. The result of Holzman and Schwartz’ efforts is that they reduced the novel to two fundamental premises, but failed to discard one for the other. In other words, Wicked is two shows squeezed into one.

The show they intended to write (and still think it is, I believe) is the Tragedy of Elphaba, tracing her life from birth to power to death. This would have been a dramatic story; the Wicked Witch at the centre of the tale travelling a solo journey while the others entered and left her life. But, there was (is) one major roadblock to this that was not removed properly.

At the top of the show, they needed to state precisely what Elphaba wanted. This is something Holzman and Schwartz fail to accomplish in a satisfying way. In the novel, Elphaba has a powerful streak of selfishness. She had the drive to usurp corrupt politicians and she was a victim of discrimination, but neither meant that she was ever concerned with the morality of it. This is what makes her an interesting character: a person who was neither evil nor wicked, but seems to operate only for herself. This necessitated incredibly nuanced writing to maintain our sympathy. However, the writers appear to have given up attempting this task or, worse, they never realised this character was there from the start.

Holzman/Schwartz ended up reducing Elphaba to a straw activist mistreated for her skin colour. If you listen to the lyrics of The Wizard and I, you can pick up hints of the possible selfish hero.

 

But, this is left undeveloped in favour of unambiguously “good” characterisation. Without the layers and dimensions, there wasn’t much left for Elphaba to want. The best Schwartz could muster was her desire to meet the Wizard about animal rights issues. Think about it; that’s what the show comes down to in the main.

But even so, that would have made for a focused if simplistic story, with the central tragedy playing out via interactions with the other characters including the Wizard and her sister, the Wicked Witch of the East. Yes, that would have been the case. But then, this happened:

 

This song comes right after The Wizard and I, destroyed the Tragedy of Elphaba story and Wicked, for better or worse, never recovered. This song changed the show from a tragedy into a musical comedy about The Odd Couple: Elphaba and Galinda. It not only placed Galinda in a starring role on par with Elphaba (when all she really needed was a suppoting role), it made central their relationship. The stakes changed. We no longer cared about the eventual destruction of the Wicked Witch. We were more preoccupied with the friendship. This explains why Galinda so easily steals the show. Not just for Kristin Chenoweth’s performance, but because Galinda was written exclusively within the story of The Odd Couple: Elphaba and Galinda. That is to say, every moment Galinda is on stage, she develops her relationship with Elphaba a little more.

With Elphaba, she was on time share. Nearly half the time on stage she was in the Tragedy of Elphaba, singing about Something Bad, hearing the Wizard sing about being a Wonderful leader, breaking down about No Good Deed going unpunished. Another near-half is spent being pals with Galinda as she explains how to be Popular, singing about how she won’t get the guy in I’m not That Girl, and in the finale where they talk about being changed For Good. The rest of the time is quite ambiguous: the opening, Defying Gravity (which skews to Elphaba, but Galinda is featured). With the writing so lacking in focus, the characterisation became vague, uninteresting and occasionally cloying.

Nine years after the show premiered, it is no contest as to which story people remember the most about Wicked. Holzman and Schwartz found greater success with The Odd Couple: Elphaba and Galinda since that is the one the little girls remember. Also helps that the finale focused on the friendship. And the fact that the pop-influenced score matched the lighter story better than the Tragedy plot, which would have required more fantastic (meaning fantasy-based) music with better-focused lyrics (Schwartz struggled to create a new language for the show, and while some find his songs witty, I sense that he had to really sweat to find the rhymes and the results work too hard against the music. Popular is a distinct example; what exactly does “protest your disinterest” mean? I’ll tell you what it means: it means you’re unhappy that you don’t care. What? Exactly). The writers certainly decided against the Tragedy by ***SPOILER bringing Elphaba back from the trapdoor. I mean dead. SPOILER***

In a dream world, I’d ask Holzman and Schwartz to rewrite and focus on the friendship. But, the show is above average as it is. Not great, just above average. It’s unfortunate though that some characters had to suffer for the two-show syndrome. Nessarose, Elphaba’s sister, could have been much more than the one-scene wonder she was. And Fiyero should be buried alive. In the Tragedy plot, he was a mere lover. In the Odd Couple plot, he was a nuisance. Both together, he was too much time taken away from more important characters.

So, hopefully this article has convinced some of you as to what truly makes Wicked what it is. Not the fierce belting. Not the sets. Not Chenzel. But, the writers that went too far too fast and could not cut away one show for the other, leaving both intact. In later analyses, the two-show syndrome will rear its head again. And in even better-acclaimed shows. Stay tuned.

 

Malaysian Theatre Critic