Fidgety Feet

dominion american in paris

Bullet points again – here are a few brief thoughts about the new London production of Christopher Wheeldon‘s stage adaptation of An American in Paris:

  • It’s beautiful to look at. Wheeldon’s choreography is glorious, and Bob Crowley’s fluid, evocative designs offer a captivating portrait of postwar Paris.
  • It’s beautifully sung. Yes, the leading lady – the wonderful Leanne Cope – is a ballet dancer rather than a musical theatre actress, but she has a lovely voice and a great deal of presence. The singing from the other leads is unimpeachable (Robert Fairchild was off at the performance I saw; his alternate, Ashley Day, is excellent).
  • Craig Lucas, who wrote the show’s book, has departed a little from the plot of the source film. It’s still the story of three young men – artistically-inclined former American soldiers Jerry Mulligan and Adam Hochberg and their French friend Henri Baurel – on the loose in Paris after the end of World War Two, and (of course) they still all fall for the same girl, but the plot carries a little more weight here than it does in the film.
  • That said, this is still a show in which everything else exists to support the dancing – and the dancers. Lucas’s book is constructed very carefully so that the heavy lifting, in terms of acting requirements, is directed away from the two principal roles, which are cast with ballet dancers rather than actors.
  • This means that while Cope’s on-the-cusp-of-stardom ballerina, Lise Dassin, is given more of a backstory (she’s Jewish, her parents were arrested by the Nazis, and Henri’s family hid her and others during the Occupation, which is why she feels beholden to them), explaining it is mostly left to other characters, which means Lise has long stretches, when she isn’t dancing, of simply being Shy And Enigmatic. This probably does Cope a great disservice; she’s a capable actress, and she’s the lead, but while her role is dazzlingly choreographed, it’s also badly underwritten.
  • The supporting characters are given a little more room here than they are in the film. In particular, Zoë Rainey’s Milo Davenport – a wealthy American patron of the arts who takes an interest in Jerry, and not just for his paintings – gets a significantly more prominent role in the story, financing a ballet in which Lise will star and persuading the ballet company to hire Jerry as designer. Rainey is wonderful – and that’s good, because she gets more to sing than the show’s leading lady, even though Cope’s (admittedly smaller) voice is hardly an embarrassment.
  • The men are all terrific. Ashley Day’s Jerry also suffers a little (though less than Cope) from his role being carefully designed for (let’s put this kindly) an actor of limited skill, which he is not. Day will be taking over from Robert Fairchild, who originated the role in Paris and on Broadway, later in the year, and he’s great.
  • The running gag about whether Haydn Oakley’s Henri Baurel might be gay isn’t very funny, and should have been cut before rehearsals.
  • Oakley has to carry a great deal of the hidden-from-the-Nazis plot strand, and he delivers a performance of enormous subtlety – not easy in a barn like the Dominion, particularly when the book scenes could almost have been written on flashcards.
  • David Seadon-Young’s Adam Hochberg is a charming narrator, a convincing song-and-dance man, and absolutely believable as a lovelorn romantic, but Lucas’s book is simply too thin for us to be moved in any way by his character’s unrequited love for Lise.
  • Jane Asher is luxury-cast as Mme. Baurel, Henri’s overbearing mother. She can do this kind of role in her sleep, but she doesn’t; her timing is sharp as ever, she owns the stage in all of her (brief) appearances, and she finds far more complexity in the character than you’d guess from the writing, which – again – tends towards the simplistic. We’ll draw a polite veil, though, over her French accent, which is cheesier than a wheel of Brie.
  • The film’s brief-ish score is augmented by a handful of classics from elsewhere in the Gershwin catalogue; they’re all beautifully sung (and played, although the 13-piece orchestra could really do with about a dozen more musicians), but they also seem oddly interchangeable. It’s not the songs that matter here, it’s the dancing.
  • The climactic ballet sequence, while shorter than it is in the film, is simply stunning. Day is very good indeed, Cope is sensational, the choreography is breathtaking, and the Mondrian-inspired costumes and projected backdrops are gorgeous.
  • Wheeldon’s choreography throughout is dazzlingly inventive, which is as it should be in a show where the dancing is the star. The opening ballet, to a chunk of Gershwin’s Concerto in F, communicates the beauty and menace of postwar Paris, dance drives most of the plot’s most significant moments, and Bob Crowley’s handsome sets move with the same choreographed precision as the dancers.
  • If you go in expecting a lighter-than-light tap-and-feathers extravaganza along the lines of, say, Crazy For You, you will be disappointed. Wheeldon and his colleagues are attempting something a little more highbrow, and a little more thoughtful. Apart from Henri’s dazzling art deco hat-and-cane fantasy in Stairway to Paradise, that kind of out-and-out production number is not what is on offer here.
  • And if you’re looking for the kind of full-on mascara-down-your-cheeks romance that will leave you sobbing into a tissue at the curtain-call, look elsewhere. This show is beautiful to look at, beautifully sung, thrillingly choreographed and danced, and brilliantly designed, but it’s also not enormously emotionally engaging. It’ll keep you interested, and sometimes dazzled, but you may not be moved.
  • Ticket prices in the West End are on a sharp upward trajectory right now, but the Dominion is a barn and there are some bargains to be had. At the front of the rear half of the circle (the theatre has only two tiers in use), row H has a low barrier in front; these seats are sold as ‘restricted view’, but the bar won’t cause you any trouble at all if you’re taller than about 4’10”, and this is a show where it’s no bad thing to be sitting far enough back that you can see the full stage picture. This was my ‘restricted’ view:
    drv
  • The realities of commercial musical theatre: you could populate a couple of football teams out of the list of producing entities billed above the title on the showcard, and the full list of producers takes up a double-page spread in the (very, very overpriced) programme:
    AP producers
    AP programme

The bottom line? It’s certainly worth seeing. To take these particular ingredients and work them into something that, at times, is transcendently beautiful is not at all an easy achievement – but too often, as brilliantly staged and designed and beautifully performed as it is, the result is just beautiful, and it could have been more. This love story may well thrill you, but you probably won’t fall in love.

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One thought on “Fidgety Feet

  1. Pingback: How not to cancel a show | Saving the word, one apostrophe at a time.

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