Occasionally a production of a familiar show can completely change how that it is perceived and performed. Such was Joseph Papp’s 1980 Central Park production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Pirates of Penzance, in which Kevin Kline reinvented the role of the Pirate King as an athletic, comic swashbuckler. Coming at a time when the venerable D’Oyly Carte company was on its last legs, artistically as well as financially (having seen some of their touring productions here in 1976 and 1978, I can testify to the former), Papp’s production reinvigorated Pirates for late 20th century audiences.

Like any innovation, however, a groundbreaking production of a show can evolve into old hat. For most of 30 years, directors of Pirates productions seemed to feel compelled to replicate the Papp production, even those parts of it — like its hyper-vaudevillian approach to the Sergeant and his policemen — that never worked well. Fortunately, with the passage of time, productions have begun to find their own footing once again. I saw a very competent traditional take on Pirates by the Madison (Wisconsin) Savoyards two summers ago, and the current Victorian Lyric Opera Company (VLOC) production in Rockville is a very lively effort both the musical and staging aspects of which succeed delightfully.

Director Felicity Ann Brown (who is also part of the choreography team, along with Helen Aberger and Amanda Jones) makes the show move fluidly. Not for this Pirates the dreaded “G&S two-step,” which has passed for movement in too many productions. The choreographic highlight is a production number version of the Pirates’ “Come friends who plow the sea” in the second act, which with its two planned encores — including brief Fiddler and Chorus Line moments and a variety of kick lines — earned the loud approval of the near-capacity Saturday night crowd.

Brown made other creative choices that worked beautifully. Among the female chorus members were four older ladies, who played chaperones to the younger women. When Frederic is singing “Oh is there not one maiden breast…,” the chaperones do their best to contain their charges’ enthusiasm, causing the maidens’ “Oh no, not one” to make the most theatrical sense that I have ever seen.

Even by standards of Gilbert’s topsy-turvy world, the Major-General’s second act number “Sighing softly to the river” makes remarkably little sense. Brown wisely upstaged the Major-General’s gyrations and uber-silly lyrics by having two tree set pieces moved about by Pirates, while befuddled policemen tried to keep pace with them. Shortly afterward, Brown tops this with a smoothly executed rope trick, in which the Pirates’ capture of the girls morphs into their capture of the police.

Musically, music director Joseph Sorge’s full orchestra performed with excellent attention to tone, dynamics, and tempi: Gwen Earle on oboe and percussionist George Hutlin had particularly nice moments. Sorge conducted a lovely rendition of the a capella “Hail poetry,” with the cast in an appropriately choral formation. The quality of the choral singing, by both the men’s and women’s ensembles, was high throughout, even in those numbers involving substantial movement.

Jeffrey Gates, as the Pirate King, was far and away the outstanding soloist. With a robust, yet subtle, baritone voice, as well as a dynamic stage presence, Gates commanded his scenes, whether in a solo number like “I am a pirate king” or playing well with others in “A paradox.” For “Poor wandering one,” a Mabel needs to have the same sort of coloratura chops as Cunegonde in Candide’s Glitter and Be Gay. Keely Borland passed that test. (Courtney Kalbacker plays this role in alternate performances.) Stevie Miller, Amanda Jones, and Rachel Ackerman nicely supported Mabel as the three female chorus leads.

In any Pirates, an important challenge faces Mabel and Frederic in the second act. Having been typically silly G&S characters throughout, their exaggerated romantic and duty-bound natures, respectively, driving their comic excess, they must suddenly and credibly handle the score’s sweetest moment, the touching duet “Ah leave me not to pine.” Borland was able to generate the requisite emotion, physically as well as vocally. As Frederic, Timothy Ziese was as fresh-faced, enthusiastic, and guilelessly dutiful as one could ask for, also contributing a pleasant tenor voice to the proceedings. He might have connected more solidly with scene partners at times. In “Ah leave me not to pine,” though, while Mabel focused on him and her relationship with him, Ziese was oriented straight out to the audience, diminishing some of the feeling the song can convey.

Wendy Stengel as Ruth and George Willis as Major General Stanley were not as strong vocally as the other principals. Stengel had a rather thin sound. G&S patter baritones are not expected to be pure singers, of course, but Willis struggled noticeably with pitch at times. While not the most graceful actor ever to assay the role, Willis had great fun with an encore to the “I am the very model of a modern major-general” that spoofed current pop music. Stengel had excellent energy and moved well in the “A paradox” scene.

Ruth is Exhibit A for Gilbert’s chronic disdain for middle-aged women (47 years old: the horror). Sometime it would be fun for a director to reimagine her as a relatively hot, toned 40-something in pursuit of a cute young thing. Think “How Stella Got Her Groove Back” visits Penzance. But that would be a different production.

Samuel is a supporting role that can often disappear. To his credit, Rick DuPuy made his character’s presence felt, and he handled his solos in “Pour, oh pour the pirate sherry” and “Come friends who plow the sea” creditably. As the Sergeant of Police, Tom Goode was vocally adequate and brought an appropriately schlumpy presence as the hapless leader of as decrepit a bunch of bobbies as one could imagine.

Denise Young’s costume deigns for the women accented the director’s contrast between the younger and older chorus women, with the younger women in variously colored pastels while the chaperones were in uniform, subdued grayish dresses with thin stripes. As the lead, Mabel wore white. Generally, the ladies’ and pirates’ costumes were colorful and flattering to the actors, with the Pirate King and Major General being in different sorts of striking red uniforms. The combination of the Major General’s 50s sitcom-style pajamas and his plumed military hat in the second act was humorously effective. Only Ruth’s costume was ill-conceived, giving her an unnecessarily awkward look. The costumes for the policemen were baggy, which, intentionally or not, suited the way they were played.

The production sported some nice prop moments. Carl and Jane Mayott provided dolls and teddy bears for the young women in the opening scene of act two and newspapers with a period look for the young women to appear to read during “How beautifully blue the sky.” My favorite, however, was a large, multi-hued parrot hand puppet that one of the pirates carried throughout, manipulated to look as if it were joining the singing. My only regret is that the bird did not get an individual bow in the curtain call.

Director Brown also designed the set, which, despite some quirks, functioned well in facilitating interesting and balanced stage pictures and movement. Among the quirks was, in act two, a model house the style of which was more Virginia colonial than Cornwall. On the stage left side of the cyc was a drawing of a large 18th century-style man-o-war, hardly the sort of ship that Victorian-era pirates (had there been such) would have chosen. The second act set included grave markers for “Porter” and “Murgatroyd.” Brown correctly gauged that G&S fans — especially of a show the libretto of which cites “that infernal nonsense Pinafore” — would find a cross-reference or two irresistible.

VLOC was the area’s second G&S-centered group to be formed, starting life in the late 1970s as a splinter group of the older Montgomery (later Washington) Savoyards. With the apparent demise of the Savoyards — a casualty not only of economic troubles but also of considerable muddle concerning its niche in the local theater scene — VLOC stands as the only local company specializing in operetta. The success of this Pirates, both artistically and in terms of drawing an audience, is a hopeful sign that VLOC can continue to prosper by maintaining its focus and quality.

Director’s Note

Earlier this year, I heard actor John Lithgow speak at The University of Maryland. He told a story of an orchestra that had been playing a particular piece in rep all season, and was getting bored with it, and it showed in their rehearsal. Just before a performance, the conductor addressed the orchestra, and told him that he understood their frustration, but he wanted them to go out and play for two specific people in the audience: The person who is hearing the piece for the very first time, and the person who is hearing it for the very last.

In directing this show, I’ve tried to keep that perspective in mind. There are those of you who were probably brought here by a friend or a parent or grandparent and are hearing Sullivan’s music and Gilbert’s jokes for the very first time today, and then those of you who have seen countless productions of Pirates in your lifetime and are bound to make comparisons between this and all of the other productions you’ve seen. My hope is that we will provide something for everyone in this audience, providing entertainment for you no matter what your level of Pirates expertise.

Pirates is the first Gilbert &Sullivan show I ever saw. I was a student at Westtown School, a Friends school in Pennsylvania, and our class was taken to see the middle school’s production. I thought it was a very fun and silly show, but I did not retain much of the plot. Still, my grandmother, upon hearing I had seen the show, impressed upon me that this was something very important. She herself had played Ruth in a production at the very same Quaker school in the 1930’s. A family legend stands that my great-grandfather had started the G&S tradition when he came there as a teacher in the 1920’s, as a way to sneak some music into the rigid curriculum at a time when Quakers were not quite sure if music and theatre were appropriate uses of student time. I’m sure that Gilbert’s cleverness with words, Sullivan’s history of writing music for the church, and the rigidness of Victorian values displayed in the G&S canon helped to grease the wheels needed for approval.

This family tradition carried on to me when I first graced the stage as a sailor, complete with stipple-brushed beard, in H.M.S. Pinafore at age twelve. I got involved with building sets for the first time, helping to hoist a giant mast and rigging on stage, I climbed up into the catwalk to focus lights, I cut off pants and glued ribbons on hats to make sailor costumes, and was fully enveloped by full range of the magic of theatre for the first time. To this day, I remain that involved, even when my primary duty is as director, because I love that feeling of creation of every little piece of the magic.

After that first production of Pinafore, the music and words were permanently engraved into my mind. I didn’t realize the significance of this until a few months later, when I was watching the cartoon Animaniacs and the segment “H.M.S. Yakko” came on and I realized I had been let in on this incredible extended inside-joke specifically for Gilbert & Sullivan fans. Sure the cartoon was goofy and full of slapstick that any child would be amused by, but I could identify all of the score as pieces of H.M.S. Pinafore and Pirates, and I understood that “I am the very model of a cartoon individual” wasn’t just something from a kids show…this was an exclusive club I had been allowed into…a shared culture of the performing arts. This membership lets people in on the G&S allusions that are seen in The Simpsons, Pretty Woman, West Wing, Family Guy, Star Trek: Insurrection, and far too many more to list. Gilbert & Sullivan is part of our cultural literacy that warrants passing on to future generations. Thank you for being here today, and keep passing it on.

Cast

• Frederic: Timothy Ziese
• The Pirate King: Jeffrey Gates
• Samuel: Rick DuPuy
• Ruth: Wendy Stengel
• Major General Stanley: George Willis
• Mabel: Keely Borland (Courtney Kalbacker in alternate performances)
• Edith: Rachel Ackerman
• Kate: Amanda Jones
• Isabel: Stevie Miller
• Sergeant of Police: Tom Goode
• Young Frederic: Gabriella Jones
• Chorus of Pirates, Police, and General Stanley’s Wards and their governesses:
• Helen Aberger, Brian Beard, Densie Cross, Kayla Cummings, Kris Devine, Tara Hockensmith, Chuck Howell, Rand Huntzinger, Ralph Johnson, Joanna Jones, Josh Katz, Erik Kreil, Lauren Lentini, Carl Maryott, Jane Maryott, Josh Milton, Rowyn Peel, Brian Polk, Bill Rogers, Kevin Schellhase, Sarah Seider, Barbara Semiatin, Ed Vilade, Maria Wilson, Kent Woods

Orchestra

• Violin 1: Steve Natrella (CM), Bonnie Barrows, Peter Mignerey, Irv Berner
• Violin 2: Martin Brown, Edwin Schneider, Cassie Conley
• Viola: Amanda Laudwein, Stephanie Cross
• Percussion: George Hutlin
• Bass: Pete Gallanis
• Flute: Jackie Miller, Louise Hill
• Oboe: Gwen Earle
• Clarinet: Laura Langbein, Laura Bornhoeft
• Bassoon: Steve Weschler, Betsy Haanes
• Horn: Joe Cross, Lora Katz, Gail Hixenbaugh
• Trumpet: Curt Anstine, Rick Pasciuto, Tom Gleason
• Trombone: Steve Ward, Frank Eliot, Al Potter
• Cello: Michael Stein, Sheryl Friedlander, Andrew Nixon

Production Staff

• Producer: Denise Young
• Director: Felicity Ann Brown
• Music Director: Joseph Sorge
• Assistant Music Director: Jenny Craley Bland
• Assistant to the Director: Helen Aberger
• Stage Manager: Douglas Maryott
• Choreography: Amanda Jones, Felicity Ann Brown, Helen Aberger
• Scenic Designer: Felicity Ann Brown
• Costume Designer: Denise Young
• Lighting Designer: Noam Lautman
• Rehearsal Pianists: Jenny Craley Bland, Joanna Jones
• Light Board Operator: Noam Lautman
• Makeup/Hair Designer: Renee Silverstone
• Master Carpenter: Devin Work
• Set Crew/Painters: Helen Aberger, Felicity Ann Brown, Rober Dennis, Kris Devine,
• Ben Dransfield, Alice Drew, Tony Dwyer, Blair Eig, Dean Fiala, Rand
• Huntzinger, William Kolodrubetz, Sarah Martin, Douglas Maryott, Anna Polk, Brian Polk, Bill Rogers, Sarah Seider, Scott Tennent, Ed Vilade, Kent Wood, Timothy Ziese
• Costume Construction: Denise Cross, Stephanie Cross, Rebecca Meyerson, Stevie
• Miller, Felicity Brown, Sarah Martin, Maria Wilson, Lauren Lentini, Kathie
• Rogers, Barbara Miller
• Props: Carl & Jane Maryott
• Photography: Harvey Lavine
• Audition Pianist: Jenny Craley Bland
• Program: Courtney Kalbacker, Denise Young
• Surtitles: Douglas Maryott, Annie Gribben
• Cover & Poster Art: Erika White Abrams
• Publicity: Courtney Kalbacker, Ed Vilade, Felicity Ann Brown
• House Management: Denise Young, Cassandra Stevens
• Set and Costume Storage: Rockville Civic Center

Disclaimer: Victorian Lyric Opera Company provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

Originally a movie by John Waters, “Hairspray” was adapted into a musical by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman. Set in segregation-era Baltimore, Hairspray revolves around the misadventures of Tracy Turnblatt, an ordinary, though slightly hefty, girl. Her dream of appearing on the Corny Collins Show comes true as she interacts with the eclectic group of councilmembers. Lively and exuberant, Tracy’s exploits attract the attention of Link Larkin, the ire of venomous producer Velma Von Tussle, and the support of the local radio station host Motormouth Maybelle as she attempts to integrate the Corny Collins Show.

With the vivacity of the cast and their vocal determination, they were able to overcome the sound issues throughout the show. Combined with the efficient use of lighting technology, the cast was able to focus on the enthusiasm and musical chops that allowed the show to shine.

As Tracy, Corrieanne Stein was a puffball of vibrant energy. Her stage presence was almost as large as her hair, an impressive feat. Impressive characterization showed as she courted Link Larkin (Wyatt Oring) in “I Can Hear the Bells,” as she expressed her evident infatuation with Oring. In his own right, Oring was an impressive performer, portraying Link Larkin as an Elvis-style rock star. Although Larkin may have been reluctant to join Tracy in her fight against segregation, Oring had no such reservation in heading the show, being an actor who dominated the stage. With impressive dance numbers with Seaweed (Myles Frost), Oring showed his commitment to Hairspray. In addition, the chemistry between Oring and Stein was evident in “Without Love.”

As Tracy’s plucky sidekick, Penny Pingleton (Julia Fanzeres) showed her naïve side as she ventured to novel and exhilarating territory outside of her house. Although controlled by her strict mother, Fanzeres showed a constant state of wonder and excitement as she took the stage, eventually falling in love with Seaweed and becoming a beauty in her own right.

Of course, what is a musical without robust supporting leads, in Wootton’s production, a singularly impressive anchor was Motormouth Maybelle (Aaliyah Dixon), whose powerful voice and stage presence invigorated the cast. Her commanding voice in “I Know Where I’ve Been” culminated in a note that had the audience on their feet. In addition, the supercilious vixen Velma Von Tussle (Meghan Wright) and domineering Matron (Lily Mayne) had impressive physicality in their songs “Miss Baltimore Crabs” and “The Big Doll House,” respectively.

Although Hairspray deals with volatile topics such as racism and segregation, Thomas S. Wootton’s approach took the stage by storm. With ardor and humor palpable in every moment of their performance, the spirit of the cast was perhaps even larger than the hairstyles of the 1960s.

by Chris Doan of Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology

Photo Gallery

Tracy (Corrieanne Stein) makes her debut with the Nicest Kids in Town on the Corny Collins Show. Watching from left, Harriman F. Spritzer (Matt Richardson) and Corny Collins (David Myer). The Nicest Kids from left to right are LouAnn (Anna Bartels-Newton), Shelly (Mara Pugh), Brenda (Sasha Bartol), Tammy (Melanie McLean), Amber (Jackie Kempa), Tracy, Link (Wyatt Oring), Brad (Max Fowler), Fender (Christopher Hechler), Sketch (William Memmott), and IQ (Robby Pine)	‘It Takes Two’ to fall in love: Tracy (Corrieanne Stein) and Link (Wyatt Oring) appear on the Corny Collins Show
Tracy (Corrieanne Stein) and her Mom, Edna (Jeffrey Morse) are revealed in Mr. Pinky’s finest in ‘Welcome to the 60s’	In the climax of ‘I Know Where I’ve Been,’ Motormouth Maybelle (Aaliyah Dixon) inspires Tracy, Link, Penny, her children Seaweed & Little Inez and all the members of the Detention Ensemble and the Dynamites (far right)
‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’ from Wootton’s Hairspray featuring Edna (Jeffrey Morse), Amber (Jackie Kempa), Velma (Meghan Wright) and Motormouth Maybelle (Aaliyah Dixon)

Photos by Joe McCary

• Fool For Love, September 2014
• Fetch Clay, Make Man, October – November 2014
• The Nutcracker, November – December 2014
• Rapture, Blister, Burn, January – February 2015
• Uncle Vanya, April – May 2015
• NSFW, May – June 2015

More information may be found at the Round House Theatre web site. Schedule is subject to change due to performance rights conflicts or other issues.

• Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
• Go Back for Murder
• To Kill a Mockingbird

More information may be found at the Rockville Little Theatre web site. Schedule is subject to change due to performance rights conflicts or other issues. Specific dates of performances and auditions are yet to be announced.

Macbeth, also called ‘the Scottish play’ by the superstitious theatre community, is one of William Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies. The play was written around 1606 and has been performed frequently in the many following centuries, due to its compelling look at the corrupting nature of ambition and the destruction that stems from ruthless power. Macbeth is a loyal and talented Scottish general until he is given a prophecy from a trio of Weird Sisters, foretelling that he will one day be king. When other promises that fell from their lips begin to be realized, Macbeth and his wife’s bitter desire propel them into a sinful plot to fulfill their destiny.

The show was headed ably by Michael Katz as the tortured and emotional titular character. Among a cast that sometimes faltered in energy, he kept the intensity at high levels with his booming voice and wild gestures. His scheming wife was portrayed with commitment by Emma-Lea Jacklin who provided an interesting foil to Katz’s great rages. The two worked together to ceaselessly push the show along towards its terrifying and dramatic conclusion. Macduff (Nick Lingenfelter), Macbeth’s final enemy who brings the tyrant to his knees, also gave a standout performance.

The performers in the diverse ensemble of the show served their purposes well in order to keep the twisted story moving along smoothly. Sam Gracia gave a memorable performance as King Duncan in the short space of time before Macbeth murders him to further his dark designs. Gracia was regal and royal in his speech and mannerism, possessing a needed gravitas that was sometimes missing from this production.

However, it is the witches and their creeping minions who deserve special recognition for their captivatingly spooky performances. The three Weird Sisters (Mica Lewis, Brianna Lattanzio, Naomi Eskenazi) embodied the otherworldly beings with smooth fluidity and powerful chants. Their ethereal existence was highlighted by shifting, shadowy lights and rolling fog that misted across the stage whenever they appeared. Their crowd of flesh-eating minions also contributed to the horrifying images with their possessed movements and growling noises. An interesting choice was to have these minions play other roles surrounding Macbeth’s downfall such as the talented Celene Daniels who threw herself into her minion role as well as one of the assassins who slaughters Banquo.

Just when all seems solved and good, the Weird Sisters appear once more, swarming over Malcolm in a promise of an endless cycle of corruption. The memorable tale of Macbeth and his wife is a lesson on the corrupting nature of power and greed; one that will continue to ensnare audiences in its tantalizing web for centuries to come. Northwood High School gave a respectable and enjoyable performance of the spellbinding story.

by Emma Paquette of McLean High School

Photo Gallery

Michael Katz (Macbeth)	Noah Wasco (Donalbain), Sam Gracia (Duncan), Simon Enagonio (Malcom), Muhammed Rafinelli (Lenox), Emily Tartaglia (Angus/Menteth/Old Man), and Blake Johnson (Rosse)
Emma-Lea Jacklin (Lady Macbeth)	Priscilla Perez, Sophia Sar, and Navagaye Simpson (witch minions), Sam Kreitzberg (Banquo), Michael Katz (Macbeth), and Eloise Cates and Catherine Rosales (witch minions)
Celene Daniels (witch minion/murderer #1), Brianna Lattanzio (witch #2), Veronica Soriano (witch minion/murderer #2), Mica Lewis (witch #1), and Nikaleta Exis (Hecate)

Photos by Stephanie Smestad

Oklahoma!‘s significance in musical theater canon is indisputable. It was one of the first “book musicals,” that told aspects of the story through song and dance. The show opened in 1943 and ran for 2,212 performances, and the 1955 film adaptation won an Academy Award. It remains a popular musical, and was revived in 2010 at Washington’s Arena Stage.

Oklahoma! takes place in 1906 Indian Territory, the soon-to-be-state of Oklahoma. It follows farm girl Laurey Williams (Amelia Heesen) as she is courted by cowboy Curly McLain (Billy Weber) and farmhand Jud Fry (Lionel Jackson). It also features Aunt Eller (Jordan Reilly), the maternal figure to all the characters, Will Parker (Cameron Mitchell), a spendthrift sweetheart of a cowboy, and his girl Ado Annie (Tiffanie Snyder), a hormone-riddled teenaged girl who flits from one man to the next.

St. Andrew’s boasted a well-rounded cast, with Weber and Heesen standing out as vocal leads. Weber created an amiable and likeable Curly from his first few moments onstage, and Heesen balanced him out by showing the evolution of Curly and Laurey’s relationship through her initial standoffishness and eventual chemistry. Reilly and Micheal McMillen (as Ali Hakim, a peddler) kept energy levels high with their comedic delivery and physicality, and Micheal McShane as Ike Skidmore and Brian Bries as Andrew Carnes drew big laughs despite limited stage time.

While there were some issues with sound mixing and with harmonies, Weber and Jackson’s performance of “Pore Jud is Daid” was powerful and evocative, and the most moving number of the show. St. Andrew’s student orchestra, who played in costume and were occasionally integrated into the show, did a good job with a difficult score. St. Andrew’s Episcopal School’s production embodied the hopeful spirit of the show, with beautiful lighting and set design, strong characterizations, and powerful voices.

by Eva Monroe of Woodrow Wilson High School

Photo Gallery

Jordan Reilly as Aunt Eller, Billy Weber as Curly, Amelia Heesen as Laurey	Tiffanie Snyder as Ado Annie and Cameron Mitchell as Will Parker
Michael McMillen as Ali Hakim with Ross Munk, Jennifer Clogg, Louay Youssef, Adit Mahmood, Michael McShane, Ben Greene, Justin Harmon, Memuna McShane	Lionel Jackson as Jud and Billy Weber as Curly
Amelia Heesen as Laurey and Billy Weber as Curly

Photos by Bruce Weber

The Pajama Game, based on the novel “7 1/2 Cents” by Richard Bissell, opened on Broadway in 1954. It ran for over 1,000 performances and won the Tony Award for Best Musical. The show was revived in both 1973 and 2006, achieving rave reviews and a Tony Award for Best Revival of a Musical in 2006. Because of its great appeal, the show has become a popular choice for many school and community theatres and a classic favorite.

The story follows a group of seamstresses, secretaries, and factory workers all desperate for a 7 1/2 cent raise and recognition from their superiors. Amidst the power struggle, a romance blossoms between the union grievance Committee leader, Catherine “Babe” Williams (India Upton) and the factory superintendent, Sid Sorokin (Andrew Myers). The rest of the cast of quirky characters engages in both love affairs and conflicts of their own, unfolding an eventful storyline that keeps the audience on their toes.

The stage was set in the school’s gymnasium with scenery that shone above all other technical elements of the show. The sets, designed by Ren McFaden, Andrea Manchester, and Becky Ward, featured vibrant backgrounds such as the interior of the Sleep Tite factory and detailed office scenery. The costumes were consistent with the bright color schemes, and these elements together created the lively 1950s atmosphere.

The actors also managed to keep up with the 1954 setting, giving performances with accurate mannerisms of the time period. John Anderson, the comedic standout of the show, portrayed the boisterous Vernon Hines with impressive physicality that served the development of his humorous character. The endearing song between Hines and Mabel (Becca Rizkalla), “I’ll Never Be Jealous Again” was a highlight of the production, and demonstrated the comedic abilities of both actors and left the audience wanting more. Another notable number was “Once a Year Day,” an explosion of energy onstage that displayed the many talented dancers in the cast.

The high points of the show were when the entire ensemble was onstage. Their uniformed belting tone brought the house down in songs such as “Racing with the Clock” and “7 1/2 Cents.” With a remarkable sound and full commitment from every single “seamstress” or “factory worker,” these ladies had a powerful presence that carried the story. The Pajama Game was a perfect choice for an all-girls school; the strong female characters were the force that gave the show its drive and spunk.

Above all, the production delivered messages of perseverance and love that are as relevant today as they were 60 years ago. Each and every cast and crew member clearly could “hardly wait to wake and get to work” on this show, and their commitment paid off. Charming, jovial and fun, Connelly School of the Holy Child’s The Pajama Game left the audience feeling optimistic and ready to start “living like a king.”

by Nikki Amico of West Potomac High School

Photo Gallery

Hines and Mabel (John Anderson and Becca Rizkalla)	Sid and Babe (Andrew Myers and India Upton)
Steam Heat Dancers (Maddy Hopkins, Victoria Suttora, Tahana Augustin, Sara Cangarlu, Becca Rizkalla)	Sleep Tite Factory with Hines, Mae, Brenda (John Anderson, Maddy Hopkins, Amy Watkins)
7 1/2 Cents (Mary Simmonds, Amy Watkins, Alex Ekam, Maddy Hopkins, Rebecca Kazor, Sam Boccia, India Upton, Tahana Augustin)

Photos by Stone Photography

Teenage youth: soulful, loving, open-hearted, emotionally confused, intellectually curious, sexually blossoming, honest, full of hope and energy, victimized. Adults: tyrannical, abusive, clueless, hypocritical, closed-minded, punitive, hard-hearted, caring more about their image in the community than their children’s lives. Such is the Manichaean world of Spring Awakening, a multiple Tony Award winner in its initial 2006 Broadway run, adapted by Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik from an 1891 play by Frank Wedekind (also famous for the Lulu plays, on which Alban Berg’s great opera was based). The musical is currently playing at the Kensington Arts Theatre (KAT).

The show’s lead character, Melchior (Ryan Alan Jones), is an intellectually precocious fellow who sees clearly through the hypocrisy of the adults he knows, religion, and his society in general. The script makes him conversant with Goethe, and, as Jacob Kresloff’s excellent dramaturg’s note points out, he is likely familiar with Nietzsche (I’d bet on his having read some of Marx as well). But of course what preoccupies him, and all his male friends, is sex. Having researched the subject thoroughly in the library, Melchior has book knowledge of male and female anatomy and how they interact, which he helpfully writes up in a paper for his sexually uninformed friend, Moritz (Harrison Smith). Not surprisingly, Melchior wants to put his hard-won knowledge to use, focusing his attention on the extremely innocent Wendla (Emily Dey), who does not know where babies come from. (Wendla’s opening song, “Momma Who Bore Me,” concerns her unsuccessful attempt to elicit this information from her mother.)

Jones captures the self-absorbed but also honest, passionate, and idealistic nature of his character. He often sits on the stage, writing in his journal as he works out his thoughts and desires. Alone of his classmates, he defends the insecure Moritz from the bullying of his teachers. Desiring Wendla, and aggressively going after what he wants, he also is able to behave lovingly toward her. Save for an occasional quaver in his head voice, Jones sings his role creditably, notably in his ballad with Wendla, “The Word of Your Body,” the uptempo “Totally Fucked,” and the elegiac “Left Behind,” the last staged in a way reminiscent of the informal memorials left by students after a classmate has been shot or killed by a drunk driver. By show’s end, Melchior has determined to move forward with his life, carrying with him the memories of his friends, but he remains a rebel without an effect.

Smith’s Moritz, bullied by his teachers and his father, less attractive than the other boys, is a marginal student troubled by sexual dreams he does not understand. Moritz is consistently overwrought, a quality portrayed by Smith in his acting and singing (for example, in “The Bitch of Living” and “And Then There Were None”) without chewing scenery. Self-dramatization is a notable part of his character, which he carries to a tragic extreme, pushing away the attempts of Ilse (Joanna Frezzo) to help him. His depressed certainty in his conversation with Ilse was sadly chilling. This scene was marred by an imbalance in amplification that left Ilse’s lyrics in the duet “Don’t Do Sad/Blue Wind” largely inaudible.

Frezzo and Catherine Callahan (Martha) have the most powerful song in the show, “The Dark I Know Well,” expressing as well as anything I have heard the feelings of girls subject to sexual abuse, in both cases by the characters’ fathers. The emotional deadening of the girls as they “lie there and breathe” is vividly portrayed in the writing of the song and the actors’ performance.

Wendla is the purest victim in the show, abused by her controlling mother’s overriding sense of shame about sex, as well as by her own sexual ignorance and Melchior’s carelessness about the consequences of his actions. Wendla’s musical material is mostly of the wistful ballad variety (“The Word of Your Body,” “Whispering”), and the clear-voiced Dey sings it in a way credible for this unformed girl who is more the subject of actions by others than someone able to even begin taking charge of her own life.

In happy contrast, Hanschen (David Tuttle) and Ernst (Riley Lopez) are able to acknowledge their attraction and act to become a couple. Their reprise of “The Word of Your Body” is the single sweetest moment in the show. One of the less heralded aspects of adolescence is the tenderness that boys (and not only those who are gay) can sometimes show to one another, and Lopez and Tuttle portray this beautifully.

One actor (Chris Gillespie) plays all the adult male roles and another (Marni Ratner Whelan) plays all the adult female roles. Gillespie specializes in the young people’s overbearing fathers and teachers, with briefer scenes as a self-righteous preacher and a back-alley abortionist. Whelan’s portfolio includes the sexually repressed and ineffectually understanding mothers, respectively, of Wendla and Melchiorp; another repressive teacher; and a randy piano instructor. As teachers gleefully planning Moritz’s academic demise, they resemble nothing so much as Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett enthusing over the protein source for their next meat pie. Both differentiate their multiple roles effectively, but the overall point of having one actor play all the adult male or female roles is inescapable: adults are essentially all the same, pernicious cogs in what Melchior calls the “parentocracy.” As the 1960s slogan had it, “never trust anyone over 30.” (Wedekind was 27 when he wrote the original play.)

There is a striking dissonance between the late 19th century German setting of the play and characters — lucidly explained in Kresloff’s essay — and Sheik’s contemporary pop/rock score. While a subset of late romantic era adolescents might well have experienced the sturm und drang suffered by the story’s characters, it is extraordinarily unlikely that would have expressed themselves in — or even understood — anything like either the musical idiom or lyrics given to them by Slater and Sheik. Their sensibility would probably have been far closer to Tchaikovsky than “Totally Fucked.” The show’s underlying assumption seems to be that there is a universal experience of adolescence that finds its natural expression in today’s musical styles.

The dubious nature of this assumption does not, however, impair the quality of many of the numbers, which the actors and music director Valerie A. Higgs’ band perform with energy and sensitivity. The staging of many of the numbers — which mostly are not plot or character songs of the sort found in many musicals — is intentionally straight out to the audience, culminating in a straight line across the stage in the second act finale. Director/choreographer Emily Zickler does a particularly good job of constructing the lively movement in ensemble numbers like “Totally Fucked,” “The Bitch of Living,” and “My Junk.”

The highlight of KAT’s physical production is Ben Levine’s lighting, which is very detailed and specific, though sparing in its use of color. There is a particularly nice effect in the second act graveyard scene during which there is strong illumination of the gravesites on stage right and stage left while the central playing area, where Melchior, Moritz, and Wendla meet, is left in relative darkness. Eleanor Dicks’ costumes were period-appropriate, mostly in subdued colors.

The main features of Anna Britton’s set design are two L-shaped, translucent flat units, which actors move about the stage to suggest various scenes. The flexibility of this concept minimizes set change delays. Upstage, on fabric-covered platforms, stand a number of wintry, bare-limbed trees. This being a show with “spring” in the title, it was curious that the trees never leafed out, even during the second act finale, “The Song of Purple Summer.” Was this a matter of insufficient technical resources, or was it an artistic choice symbolizing that, in the Teutonic gloom of the story, springtime never arrives for Melchior’s generation?

Director’s Notes

In the spring of 2007, I picked up a weekend bag, hopped on a bus, and went up to New York to see Spring Awakening on Broadway. This was an exciting time for me: I was enjoying newfound independence, feeling less like a child and more like an adult, and yet I was still very aware that I was in some grey area between the two. The curtain rose on this new rock-musical and suddenly I felt something that I had never felt before in a theatre: understood.

What makes this script so very special is how it honestly portrays the life of an adolescent in turmoil. Franz Wedekind’s play, Spring’s Awakening: Tragedy of Childhood, from which this musical is derived, is a sort of parable. It brought the subjects of adolescent depression, sexual maturity, and abuse into focus with such clarity, that the text was banned in Germany for a period of time. Our modern societal norms and pressures are quite different from that of late 19th century Germany, and yet somehow the stigma surrounding these issues still exists today.

I propose that those questions of morality that Wedekind asked of his original audience in 1890 are still relevant in a modern context. Moreover, I believe that these questions are given new life by Sater’s script and Sheik’s music. The societal pressures put on adolescents in this modern world are as real as ever, but unfortunately, are rarely faced directly.

My hope is that seeing these quandaries confronted head-on on the stage may help to shed light on the seriousness of these issues and maybe, in some cases, provide a cathartic release similar to what I felt in New York back in 2007.

This project has been a labor of love: So, with an open heart, I invite you to join us, the Spring Awakening cast and crew, on our journey towards awareness and understanding.

Photo Gallery

Ryan Alan Jones, Harrison Smith	Joanna Frezzo, Harrison Smith, Emily Dey, David Tuttle, Ashley Zielinski, Mike Van Maele, Catherine Callahan, Bobby Libby, Elizabeth Gillespie, Riley Lopez, Ryan Alan Jones
Ryan Alan Jones and Emily Dey	Ryan Alan Jones, Marni Ratner Whelan, Chris Gillespie

Photos by Ernie Achenbach

Cast

• Wendla: Emily Dey
• The Adult Women: Marni Ratner Whelan
• Martha: Catherine Callahan
• Ilse: Joanna Frezzo
• Anna: Ashley Zielinski
• Thea: Elizabeth Gillespie
• The Adult Men: Chris Gillespie
• Otto: Bobby Libby
• Hanschen: David Tuttle
• Ernst: Riley Lopez
• Georg: Michael Van Maele
• Moritz: Harrison Smith
• Melchior: Ryan Alan Jones

Orchestra

• Conductor/Keyboards: Valerie A. Higgs
• Violin: Sarah Morrison
• Viola: Meagan Frame
• Cello: Joe Ichniowski
• Bass: Tony Aragon
• Guitar: Rick Peralta
• Percussion: Kevin Uleck

Production Staff

• Producer: Kevin Garrett
• Director: Emily Zickler
• Music Director: Valerie A. Higgs
• Assistant Director/Stage Manager: Katherine Offutt
• Assistant Stage Manager: Jess Walker
• Choreographer/Fight Choreographer: Emily Zickler
• Dance Captain: Elizabeth Gillespie
• Scenic Design/Set Painting Design: Anna Britton
• Master Carpenter: Joel Richon
• Assistant Master Carpenter: Mike Ricci
• Properties: Lois Britton
• Lighting Design: Ben Levine
• Light Crew: Katherine Offutt, Kevin Garrett, Dylan Stieber, Maria O’Connor
• Sound Design: Kevin Garrett
• Sound Crew: Jamie Coupar
• Costume Design: Eleanor Dicks
• Hair/Makeup Design: Eleanor Dicks
• Dramaturg: Jacob Kresloff
• Board Operators: Katherine Offutt, Kevin Garrett, Dylan Stieber
• Construction/Painting Crew: Joel Richon, Mike Ricci, Matt Karner, Ed Eggleston, Anna Britton, Lois Britton, Brian Campbell, Kevin Garrett
• Stage Crew: Jess Walker, DJ McGowan
• Program Cover/Logo Design: Ernie Achenbach
• Program Design/House Manager: Doe B. Kim

Disclaimer: Kensington Arts Theatre provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

Blame It on Beckett, by local playwright John Morogiello, is not so much a theater backstage story as a theater front office story, concerning the frustrated and back-stabbing ways of the denizens of the “literary office” of a non-profit professional regional theater company. The “Beckett” of the title is Samuel, of Waiting for Godot fame, who company dramaturg Jim Foley (Nick Sampson) faults for all that has gone wrong with contemporary theater.

Overwhelmed and increasingly despising the quality of the thousands of unsolicited script he receives, Foley doesn’t bother reading them, comes in late, drinks a lot, hangs up on phone calls from playwrights, and loudly rails against the futility of all things theatrical to anyone who will listen. Into his cynical and jaded world drops intern Heidi Bishop (Emily Sucher), newly minted MFA in dramaturgy, full of youthful idealism and righteous certainty, willing and able to stand up to Foley’s bombast. In early scenes, the two engage in witty verbal combat, their timing and chemistry first-rate.

Later on, Bishop’s ambitious agenda becomes sharper, as she cleans up the office, installs organization and discipline, and begins keeping notes on things she would like to change. As ingénues go, Bishop veers into Eve Harrington territory, though inconsistently; her moods and motivations fluctuate. Sucher valiantly follows the twists and turns of her character’s actions and feelings as written by Morogiello, sometimes at the expense of a coherent character arc. Foley is no Margo Channing, it should be said. An emotional wreck from the death of his partner and his professional despair, he is oblivious to gathering storm clouds. Following a professional crash, he begins to recover a sense of who he is, and his final scenes are nicely controlled, a degree of self-possession replacing the character’s out-of-control energy in the first act.

Things become more complicated when theater manager Mike Braschi (Chris Hawkins), in charge of financial matters for the company, and veteran playwright Tina Fike (Linda Hirsch) join the fray. Smooth and smarmy, Braschi never takes his eye off whatever prize he has in mind, whether a trip to New York with a promising new play or a sexual conquest. Having worked his way up in the theatrical rough-and-tumble from humble origins, he has learned how to insert an unexpected knife into someone’s back with a smile. Hawkins gives one of those enjoyable “characters you love to hate” performances, out of the J.R. Ewing playbook.

Equally determined to have her way, with the power and box-office name recognition to get it, Fike is the most dangerous, and perhaps most cynical, of the lot. Fike should command any room she enters, and she should command the stage. Hirsh’s performance is a bit too soft, a bit lacking in magnetism, for someone whose iron determination to succeed is intended to dominate the action, which centers around an argument about including or discarding a monologue from her new play and her decision about who to take to New York with the play. Her attempt to seduce one of the other characters is clumsy. Nonetheless, she is convincing in her most important speech, in which she explains that, for all the nonsense, betrayals, and failures involved, theater is still a calling – like the Catholic Church, she notes, only with much more sex.

The play is very funny, in a bitter sort of way, though the plot ultimately becomes rather convoluted in its attempt to provide a satisfying ending. Theater fans will enjoy the numerous “inside baseball” references to playwrights, shows, and theater politics and economics, tossed about like the woebegone scripts that litter Foley’s office (e.g., “Requiem for a Hairdresser”). Morogiello’s script calls for recorded audio skits to be played during scene changes, such as Beckett pitching a play in an elevator, and these add to the ironic fun of the proceedings.

The set, designed by David Jones and dressed by BJ Angstadt, is a realistic cluttered theater office, with worn desks and chairs, along with file cabinets that rock and rattle on cue. The sound design (Roger Stone), in addition to the between-scene recorded skits and Broadway show music before each act, is long on very frequent, and perfectly timed, phone rings. The costumes (McKenna Kelly) are well suited to the characters: For Foley, disheveled duds that look like they have been slept in and a suit and sneakers combination; for Braschi, natty business attire; for Bishop, several upscale work outfits with designer shoes plus a sexy red dress; and for Fike, an “artistic” look involving a loose-fitting green blouse and roomy pants. All the physical elements of the show looked good.

Ironically, in a show that talks at length about the role and frustrations of dramaturgs, the Montgomery Playhouse production did not use a dramaturg. The reason became clear in post-show Q&A session: the playwright, being local, was able to attend the first read-through and was available to director David Dossey for phone consultations, a luxury enjoyed by few community companies. Nevertheless, I respectfully disagree with Dossey’s comment that a dramaturg is unnecessary for community theater productions. While the function emphasized in this play of combing through thousands of unsolicited scripts does not bedevil community companies, an able dramaturg can research the historical background of a play, performance history, issues to which a play responds, etc. Presenting this information in a well-organized way can be of great benefit to cast members, audiences, and even directors. Recent local community theater productions (e.g., Copenhagen at Rockville Little Theater and Parade at Kensington Arts Theater) have reaped that benefit, and I would argue that more community theater groups should encourage knowledgeable people to play this valuable role.

Photo Gallery

New theater intern Heidi Bishop (Emily Sucher) fends off the advances of business manager Mike Braschi (Chris Hawkins)	Author Tina Fike (Linda Hirsch) and dramaturge Jim Foley (Nick Sampson) share theater war stories
New theater intern Heidi Bishop (Emily Sucher) tells author Tina Fike (Linda Hirsch) how much she admires her work	Business manager Mike Braschi (Chris Hawkins) and dramaturge Jim Foley (Nick Sampson) have yet another confrontation
Mike Braschi (Chris Hawkins), Tina Fike (Linda Hirsch), Heidi Bishop (Emily Sucher), and Jim Foley (Nick Sampson) discuss aspects of Tina’s new play	New theater intern Heidi Bishop (Emily Sucher) shows theater dramaturge Jim Foley (Nick Sampson) the text of a book that made her decide to go into theater

Photos by David Jones

The Cast

• Jim Foley: Nick Sampson
• Heidi Bishop: Emily Sucher
• Tina Fike: Linda Hirsch
• Mike Braschi: Chris Hawkins

Production Team

• Producer: Lisa Spangler
• Director: David Dossey
• Assistant Director: Gillian Shelly
• Stage Manager: Bruce Hirsch
• Costumer: McKenna Kelly
• Set Dresser: BJ Angstadt
• Lighting Design: Steve Deming
• Light Operator: Mark Shullenbarger
• Sound Design: Roger Stone
• Sound Operator: Steve Deming
• Set Designer and Master Carpenter: David Jones
• Stage Crew: Andi Allison
• Production Logo/Poster Design: Jennifer Georgia
• Set Construction: David Jones, Mark Shullenbarger
• Set Painting: David Jones, Mark Shullenbarger, Lisa Spangler
• Load in Crew: Steve Deming, David Dossey, Chris Hawkins, David Jones, Loretto McNally, Hunter Shelly, Newman Smith, Lisa Spangler

Disclaimer: Montgomery Playhouse provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review. MP also purchased advertising on the ShowBizRadio web site, which did not influence this review.

The last of Rodgers’ and Hammerstein’s four greatest hits, The King and I (KAI) displays both the enduring strength and the beginnings of the limitations of the pair’s approach to musical theater. Olney’s solid, largely traditional remounting of the 1951 show showcases both the power and constraints of the R & H style.

Brilliantly conceived songs that grow from and illuminate character are the principal gift of R & H shows. KAI has one of the best, Lady Thiang’s “Something Wonderful,” matched in the R & H canon only by Oklahoma‘s “Lonely Room” as a number that in a few brief moments tells the audience everything it needs to know about the character who sings it. If King Mongkut follows his own prescription of respecting his wives and loving his concubines, Lady Thiang, played by Janine Sunday, is the wife he most respects, and who returns that respect with deep understanding and devotion.

Not far behind as a character song is “My Lord and Master,” beautifully sung by soprano Yoongjeong Seong as Tuptim, a young girl given to the King as a gift who, with great strength and determination, remains true to her love for Lun Tha (smooth baritone Eymard Cabling). With the best voice in the show, Seong shines not only in that number but in her duets of passion and longing with Lun Tha, “We Kiss in a Shadow” and “I Have Dreamed.” Tuptim narrates “The Small House of Uncle Thomas,” a Thai reimagining of Uncle Tom’s Cabin that she uses as a protest against slavery and the tyranny of wicked kings. This sequence is the highlight of the Olney production, with spectacularly colorful costuming and lighting, exciting choreography, and dramatic drive all contributing to its success.

Unusually for the male lead in a musical, King Mongkut is given very little music, his role being structured for a character actor who sings a bit. In the King’s one full-length song, “A Puzzlement,” Paolo Montalban effectively expresses the difficulty of being a ruler who is supposed to have all the answers but is acutely aware that he does not. Montalban plays the role with great, almost antic energy. His Mongkut is substantially younger than many takes on the part (not to mention the historical king who, in a photo provided in Olney’s dramaturgical materials, looks something like the middle-aged Ghandi). At times this gravitas-challenged monarch comes off more like a charming, demanding adolescent than as someone who actually runs a country. He clumps about enthusiastically in “Shall We Dance” rather than transforming into a graceful dancer, consistent with his interpretation of the character if somewhat less pleasing to the eye. His relative youth and high energy level lend credibility to the unspoken sexual tension between him and Anna while making suspension of disbelief more difficult in his death scene.

Anna Leonowens (Eileen Ward), the British teacher Mongkut imports to teach English and other Western subjects to his children and wives, is responsible for the three best-known songs in the show, “Hello, Young Lovers,” “Getting to Know You,” and “Shall We Dance.” With a warm, strong voice, she carries them off well, though the impact of “Hello, Young Lovers” is blunted by presentational staging of the “soloist sings straight out to the audience stage left, crosses and sings straight out to the audience out stage right” variety. In the other two numbers, she establishes strong relationships with the children and the King, respectively, and the choice in “Shall We Dance” to block her first verse facing away from the King before he seeks to join in the dance is a particularly good one. In this production, as in many others, Anna’s less well-known number, “Shall I Tell You What I Think of You,” is perhaps her best, a character song expressing in an angry and humorous way her attraction to and deep frustration with the King, as well as her love for her work and the children she teaches. Ward consistently conveys the independent — almost proto-feminist — nature of this Victorian woman making her way in a strange land.

Director Mark Waldrop comments, in his interview in Olney’s “Context Guide,” that one of the challenges in casting the show was to find young actors who, playing Louis and Chulalongkorn, can take on the attributes of people who lived in such a different time. Louis (Henry Niepoetter) came off as a credible, curious and polite, Victorian boy. Chulalongkorn (Josiah Segui) seemed much more a sulky, entitled, modern American teenager. The ensemble sang and danced capably throughout, executing Tara Jeanne Valle’s energetic and flowing choreography, above all in “Small House.” The nine-member orchestra, conducted by Jenny Cartney, was flawless.

James Fouchard’s set design features three sliding or lifting panels that function as a proscenium curtain, in front of a series of arches framing a backdrop of shapely palace building outlines. The stylized ship masts and billowy sails in the opening scene were a particularly nice touch. In the 1940s and 1950s, it was common practice to write “front of curtain” scenes in which song reprises or brief crosses with a few spoken lines occupied the audience’s attention while set changes occurred behind the curtain. Waldrop’s production follows this traditional practice, which while faithful to the original script can slow the flow of the story to an extent. Dan Covey’s lighting design is mostly functional, with occasional use of rose tones in some musical numbers, though it gets more varied in “Small House.” There is probably excessive reliance on sound reinforcement for the actors, which became noticeably boomy at times.

KAI is a big costume show, and Kendra Rai’s costumes were an outstanding element of the production, with multicolored, often shiny, fabrics to catch the audience members’ eyes. The masks and character costumes in “Small House” were striking, especially the stunning black outfit worn by the villainous Simon of Legree (Aaron Komo). The hoop skirts worn by Anna and, in one scene, by the ensemble women, looked good and moved well, particularly when the royal wives, unfamiliar with this odd garment, hurried off stage with their hoops flapping high. Anna’s dress for “Shall We Dance” was lovely to behold. The wives’ daily outfits were not only colorful, but decorously revealing. In combination with the mostly bare torsos of Mongkut and Lun Tha, it is clear that this exotic East is a sexually alluring place.

In KAI, it is through Anna’s eyes, a Western gaze, that we see the colorful world of 19th century Siam. And this leads to what is the most problematic aspect of the show. While Waldrop is correct in denying, in his Olney’s “Context Guide” interview, that the show is disrespectful of its Asian characters, much of the show’s appeal stems from Anna’s or a Western audience’s ability to look from the outside at the exotic, sometimes thrilling, sometimes cute, and sometimes horrifying, culture of Mongkut’s court. Adopting Western norms becomes the sign of “progress” in the traditional Thai society. To show that he is not a “barbarian,” for example, Mongkut must put on a ball for a visiting British diplomat in which his women wear Western dresses.

As R & H’s career went forward, they became increasingly dependent upon exotic places and people. After starting with Midwestern and New England locales in Oklahoma and Carousel, respectively, R & H moved on to Oceania in South Pacific (with its seemingly “native” characters, who are actually mostly Vietnamese rather than Polynesian), San Francisco’s Chinatown (Flower Drum Song), and a sentimentalized central Europe (The Sound of Music). The lure of the exotic had some correlation with their success: their post-Carousel shows with mainstream American settings were uniformly commercial failures (Allegro, Me and Juliet, Pipe Dream).

KAI also represents the clearest beginning of R & H’s dalliance with cuteness, mercifully absent from shows like Oklahoma and Carousel. Save Chulalongkorn, the children in KAI are present almost entirely to be colorfully cute. The kids in the Olney production, indeed, are cute and hit their marks consistently, but the emotional tone their scenes, as well as that of “I Whistle a Happy Tune,” is a lineal ancestor of the sticky sweetness that ultimately overwhelms The Sound of Music.

There were a large number of young people at the Saturday performance at Olney, always a gratifying sight to see. Any production that successfully introduces new generations to the great musicals of the 1940s — 1960s is a deeply welcome event. The Olney production is more than good enough to entice new audience members to come back for more and to grow to know and love these jewels of American creativity.

Director’s Notes

A little over ten years ago I directed an original musical for Princeton University’s Triangle Club. Not surprisingly, I was impressed with how very smart everyone was. (My gorgeous blond leading lady was, literally, a rocket scientist.) I was especially struck by the fact that it seemed all the students were learning to speak Chinese, “Aha!” I thought, “If the brilliant movers and shakers who devise this school’s curriculum are making Chinese a requirement, they must know something about the direction that the fortunes of the world will be heading.” Clearly, they did.

I was reminded of this when I started work on The King and I. The King’s forward-thinking desire to have his 1862 Siamese court educated in Western ideas and the English language was absolutely analogous to what I had witnessed at Princeton. And I found myself with a newly heightened appreciation for the King’s sophistication and progressiveness.

But of course, the King was trying to steer a course between the constant onslaught of change and the traditions he was bound to uphold. It’s a timeless predicament, and a great theme. This is the theme that lyricist and librettist Oscar Hammerstein II placed at the heart of this show. Yes, it required him to take artistic license with historical facts. The final scene is Hammerstein’s invention, a moving dramatization of one era giving way to the next. But it’s Rodgers’ and Hammerstein’s version of this story more than any other — including multiple non-musical film versions, Margaret Landon’s book, and even Anna Leonowens’ own account — that has preserved a place for Anna and the King in the public’s affections.

It’s a pleasure for me to return to Olney Theatre Center for another holiday show and to collaborate again with choreographer Tara Jeanne Vallee. She has distilled and adapted the iconic original musical staging by Jerome Robbins, adding her own distinctive point of view. As director, I have tried to honor the show’s creators by giving full value to all their story’s humor, emotion, and drama.

I hope you enjoy it.

Photo Gallery

Paolo Montalban as The King	Eileen Ward (as Anna) and the cast
Shall We Dance? Paolo Montalban (as The King) and Eileen Ward (as Anna)	The cast perform the ‘Small House of Uncle Thomas’ Ballet

Photos by Stan Barouh

The Cast

• The King Of Siam: Paolo Montalban
• Anna Leonowens: Eileen Ward
• Lun Tha: Eymard Cabling
• The Kralahome: Alan Ariano
• Sir Edward Ramsey/Captain Orton: Ron Heneghan
• Phra Alack (The Interpreter): Ron Curameng
• Tuptim: Yoonseong Jeong
• Lady Thiang: Janine Sunday
• Angel/George: Yumiko Niimi
• Eliza: Rumi Oyama
• Simon: Aaron Komo
• Little Eva: Momoko Sugai+
• Louis (Double Cast): Ian Berlin/Henry Niepoetter
• Prince Chulalonghorn: Josiah Segui
• Adult Ensemble: Eunice Bae
• Adult Ensemble: David Gregory
• Adult Ensemble: Kimi Hugli
• Adult Ensemble: Brittany Jeffery
• Adult Ensemble: Kevin Kulp
• Adult Ensemble: Justine Moral
• Adult Ensemble: Jeffrey Wei
• Topsy (Double Cast): Kathryn Benson/Kylie Cooley
• The Royal Children(Double Cast): Lucy Gibbs/Nikki Wildy
• The Royal Children(Double Cast): Emma Pham/Haley Davis
• The Royal Children(Double Cast): Lia Ilagan/Dulci Pham
• The Royal Children(Double Cast): Nathaniel Levin/Justin Hong
• The Royal Children(Double Cast): Daniel Chin/Kyle Davis
• The Royal Children(Double Cast): Aidan Levin/Oliver Wang

The Creative Team

• Director: Mark Waldrop
• Choreographer: Tara Jeanne Vallee
• Musical Director: Jenny Cartney
• Scenic Designer: James Fouchard
• Costume Designer: Kendra Rai
• Lighting Designer: Dan Covey
• Sound Designer: Jeff Dorfman
• Dialect Consultant: Lynn Watson

Disclaimer: Olney Theatre Center provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.