Hairily, We Role Along

Okay. Chastened by past theatrical experiences, The Phantom intentionally approached Merrily We Roll Along with an open mind. He remembers being simultaneously appalled and delighted by TTC’s production of Sweeney Todd. And as Merrily was written by the same guy (that Sondheim person that everyone either seems to love or hate), he was prepared. And when The Phantom says “prepared,” he means prepared in that not-just -one-cocktail-beforehand kind of way. So The Phantom settled into his cushy Theater Company seat, and wham! What’s this? Could it be? Yes, it was another of those bass-ackwards plays that starts at the end. Is there something in the water?

The play began, as these backward epics do, with a lot of confusion. There was a party, there was a drunk lady falling down while hollering embarrassing insults, there was a jealous wife throwing hissy fits, there was a hot, up-and-coming starlet/mistress, there was a tall rickety staircase that undoubtedly took out a few light bulbs in the rafters, and there were wigs. And when the Phantom says wigs, he means “wear the blonde wig tonight, honey” wigs just right for illicit role-plays. Hairily, we role along, indeed. The Phantom could not help but be intrigued.

As the scenes unfolded, each preceded the last, if you catch our drift. Or at least that’s what a fancy overhead slideshow suggested. The dates were welcome, and The Phantom’s ability to suspend his sense of time-capsule-induced-disbelief wasn’t strained beyond a level of which he may or may not have been capable (especially given the aforementioned cocktails).

(Insert note here: The Phantom is a quick learner. Derogated and disregarded in the most heartless fashion by phaithless phoes after a prior pithy play purview, The Phantom has decided to change topics at this point. Instead of telling you what he thought of the book, he’ll tell you what he thought of the performers. As no one was awful, that will actually be easier than trying to explain the backwards story. Ready? Here we go.)

[Wait. The Phantom worries that appearing to take heed of comments posted by visitors to this humble site may be taken as a sign of weakness. Let’s just say that The Phantom wants to talk about the cast now. He isn’t bowing to pressure. He’s his own man. He stands tall. He’s not scared of anybody.]

{But he’s sensible. You’ve got give him that.}

/Where were we? Oh, right.\

There was Frank. He was the main character, a struggling composer around whom the play revolved. And when The Phantom says “struggling,” he means Frank was a huge success, finally, at the beginning. Got it? Anyway, throughout the play, there were ladies phussing and phighting over him. The Phantom was reminded of the Jerry Springer episodes in which some putz is sitting between two women who are shouting obscenities at each other because they’re fighting over custody of said putz. However, Frank wasn’t a putz, he was a perplexed people-pleaser who ticked off lots of people because he was trying too hard not to. Frank was played by a fellow we’ve seen onstage before, and his awesome sincerity-oozing was phenomenal. The kid could sing, the kid could act, the kid could wax passive-aggressive.

Then there was Frank’s buddy and musical collaborator, Charley. This is another guy we’ve seen often on the TTC stage, and, as always, he delivered (although, regrettably, not by swinging onto stage in a white shiny tuxedo). Talk about platinum pipes. He sang several beautiful ballads, but his most memorable scene was one in which he cleverly fast-talked/sang a song reminiscent of “ya got trouble, right here in River City.” The Phantom was amazed at Charley’s dexterity of tongue. (The Phantom has chosen here not to digress. Spending any time at all on juvenile innuendo regarding the ability to talk/sing this fast without tripping over one’s glossal self would be inappropriate in a family forum used, The Phantom is told, in several forward-thinking kindergarten classes to introduce the Valley’s youngsters to the wonders of art. So, in an uncommon example of self-control, The Phantom shall refrain.) {But it was remarkable. We bet Charley is one of those marvels of nature who can tie a cherry stem in his mouth with no hands. We bet Charley doesn’t need a white, shiny tuxedo to… Oh. Sorry.}

The TV host lady attempting, but not succeeding in, running interference was funny.

The anchor lady was, as usual, cute and adorable.

The third character in the main circle ‘o friends gone bad was Frank and Charley’s old friend, Mary, who they first meet on a rooftop during the final scene of the play. Turns out she is the same lady who ended up, in the opening scene, as the falling-down drunk. Confused yet? Put your phaith in The Phantom. He’ll see you home safely. About mid-play, we learn that Mary has long carried a torch for our anti-hero Frank. Poor Mary. In the end (beginning), so full of hope. In the beginning (end), so full of booze. There is probably a meaningful moral in this story line. But, being a literal type of fellow, The Phantom deduces that Mister S. was trying to suggest that, if you’re a real woman, don’t go after the guy who would rather chase the bimbos. Otherwise, you will end up all bitters. (Get it?)

Mary was played by a woman we’ve also enjoyed before. Clap, clap for some more masterful casting. Mary could sing, act, dance, and wax desperate. She could play sad, fun, old, young, drunk, sober, professional, the buddy girl, everything but the romantic girl, and not necessarily in that order. Poor Mary. Go get therapy, along with all the rest of the Sondheim characters who consistently, desperately, need it. Oh yes, even Mary wore wigs. Wigs to indicate her various stages of youth. Longer hair means younger, shorter hair means older, the Phantom surmises. Who knew?

Speaking of hair, let’s talk about Gussie, the hussie. The Phantom gets it. Very clever, Steven, Steve, Steve-O, you old dog, you. Gussie wasn’t really a hussie as much as she was a plain old beyotch. She was played by another familiar actress, and this was one of her best roles to date. Sorry about that, actress. Anyway, Gussie was the secretary/temptress/adulteress who lured Frank away from his Stepford-style wife. Later, or earlier—try to keep up—the up-and-coming actress lures Frank away from Gussie. See the pattern? The upgrade-to-a-younger-hotter-lover cycle continues. Frank is a playah. One of those low-key kinds. The kind you never see coming, like a Stealth bomber.

Anyway, Gussie had the best wigs. Long blonde, short blonde, brunette blonde; we even saw her in curlers later trying to be someone else, but you can’t fool The Phantom. He’s always perceptive. Gussie channeled Marilyn Monroe by recreating that diamonds scene with the long gloves and pink dress. Gussie channeled Kim Basinger by writhing across a piano to seduce Frank. Gussie walked sexy. The Phantom couldn’t walk away when the lights came up for a good 5 minutes. (Kids, the teacher will explain that to you. Just ask.)

Gussie sang some good songs that made you rather like her. You know, a beyotch with a heart of golddiggery. Why did she set her sights on Frank, back before she knew he had anything going on? Frank seemed a sort of everyday kind of guy to The Phantom. Sondy obviously saw Frank as extremely captivating. Perhaps Gussie had good success radar. Perhaps Mister Sondheim was channeling himself, the young composer, in Frank. Perhaps Mister Sondheim gets lots of chicks. The Phantom is starting to think too much. Wishfully, and wistfully. Oh, Gussie.

Gussie was hot.

Gussie’s cuckolded husband was played by a guy who made you like and feel sorry for him. Poor Gussie’s husband. We liked you, we really, really liked you. The Phantom sends you a post-production hug. The Phantom was also impressed by the many unsung members of this cast who swirled around this dysfunctional gang of friends/lovers/concubines/people who “made it but oh, at what a cost.” They sang, danced, and pushed around large, seemingly immobile set pieces. Bravo and clap, clap, other people.

The set was spare, stark, well-lit. The Phantom could see everybody just fine.

Speaking of wigs, let’s talk about Frank’s first woman, Sweet Beth. And by first, The Phantom means last. Whatever. Sweet Beth’s wigs looked like those cheap kind you order out of catalogs that could slide off at any minute (the wigs, not the catalogs). But she sang a sad song that brought a tear to our eye. Something about missing Frank because he had ditched her for Gussie and was dragging her (Beth, not Gussie) through a nasty divorce, complete with dreadlock-wig-wearing paparazzi and that funny reporter lady. The actress playing Sweet Beth was really good. Bravo, actress playing Beth. You seem like a really nice person and a great mom, hopefully to children not unlike the super cute yet narcoleptic little boy in the show. Stop with the Robitussin already and wake that kid up, or he’ll be up in the middle of the night!

The songs were all beautiful, and, yes, hummable. If you couldn’t hum these songs, dear phans, you must be musically challenged. So much for impenetrability. The Phantom is starting to like this Sondheim character. Where can he find more of him?

The songs were made inviting not only by the great singing but also by a very good orchestra. There was a confident saxophone player and an even more assertive trumpet player who sometimes drowned out the singers. But the Phantom, always on edge after his experience as a TTC patron, detected no sour notes. We are grateful for the symphony conductor, face all aglow, one arm swinging a baton and the other arm engaged in robust page-turning.

During intermission, The Phantom sympathized with the person he overheard saying “I don’t git it” while walking out the door with no intention of returning. But he doesn’t blame the theater this time as much as he did after the last crowd-confuser. This show was challenging, but not arrogant and snooty. Yes, it was about how stuff happens, or something. Mister Sondheim was trying to tell us, “follow your dreams, but don’t lead with your pants,” or something. “Money can buy you deluxe penthouses for hosting fashionable parties with good booze, but only with people who hate you,” or something. “Watch out for that,” or something. The Phantom is still scratching his head. But in an, ahh, that feels good, a-little-harder-and-over-to-the-left kinda way. The Phantom departed the theater feeling sophisticated, worldly, cultured, and more smarter. He is grateful to TTC for providing him access to an interesting play to which he otherwise might never have been exposed.

Now, where is that shrink’s phone number?

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom