Originally published here.
REVIEW: Musical accurately captures melodrama of love
By Mark Hughes Cobb
A musical that starts with a song titled "Four Jews In a Room Bitching" -- an alienated teenage boy (Kyle Van Frank); his father Marvin (Matt Gabbard) who's just left home to be with a gay man (Whizzer, played by Peyton Davis); and the therapist Mendel (Daniel B. Hulsizer) -- probably won't showcase kick lines and bring-down-the-house choral numbers.
But that's not to say director Raines Carr's production of the James Lapine and William Finn musical "Falsettos" lacks energy, variety or visual appeal. Within the confines of the Allen Bales Theatre's thrust stage, and utilizing colored building-block props, aided by a chair, chess set or racquet here and there, Raines and crew crafted a minor spectacle, fitting for this comic drama about the families we have clashing with the ones we create. The blocks pile up, line up, break down, spread out, clutter the center and give way to make walls, in a tidy metaphor underlining the now you see 'em, now you don't, mix-and-match threads connecting the four Jews, abandoned wife Trina (Megan Kelly) and in the second act, next-door lesbians Dr. Charlotte (Shaffer Diebolt) and Cordelia (Megan Hill).
The set is all the more remarkable being the work of Andy Fitch, who prefers massive stages. But it's simple and effective, much like the almost-invisible costume work by Kati Stankovich, reminding us yet again that the '80s are not worthy of fashion nostalgia. Russell McKinley aids in that flexibility with the -- again, almost-invisible -- kind of work that illuminates without calling attention to itself.
The cast, all undergrads, does a remarkable job of deep engagement, where audiences forget they're watching kids who weren't even born when this work -- consisting of a pair of one-acts, written and performed a decade apart, then brought together for a full-length production -- was written and set. One of the harder jobs for an actor is playing older, more mature; playing younger's typically less demanding, because they've been there. Some actors hear "You're playing a guy twice your age" and fall into a stoop, cracking their voice and walking like the near-dead. From 20, 40 can look ancient.
But Carr's got it in hand. The kids show the stamina and beauty of youth -- aside from rare dialogue, it's two-plus hours of singing, dancing and emoting -- but easily pass for adults, with adult fixations.
Sophomore Van Frank goes another direction, beautifully capturing an awkward kid just shy of his bar mitzvah -- in the second act, the blended families struggle to plan his big day -- with a beguiling fumble toward understanding matters he's forced to deal with by sometimes over-sharing adults. Van Frank renders heartbreaking and hilarious moments, as the only thing all the grownups can agree on.
Gabbard's Marvin unravels and expands, contracts and explodes, a bundle of anxiety and neuroses. He only gives up therapist Mendel when his ex-wife falls in love with and marries the guy. He should've found another. Marvin's journey is torturous, from entirely understandable to maddeningly immature. The heart wants what it wants.
His lover Whizzer threatens to become the stereotypical freewheeling gay guy in the big city, but Davis brings an earthy warmth, even in moments of biting truth or cutting wit, that leads the finale to its crushing end. Hulsizer grabs the biggest belly laughs, and there are many, with infectious sunniness and devotion: Mendel has to tread a lot of fine lines. Kelly's work is just lovely, from consternation to confrontation to cooperation; with her son Jason, she's the most aggrieved, and yet the adult, as the show closes, probably most fully realized. Deibolt and Hill, with stage less time, make quick decisive marks as more than just pals, but add crucial ingredients to the mix.
It's a musical with sardonic wit, a drama with heartbreak, a melodrama of love (but ain't love always that way?) and a coming-of-age tale. It's a bit like "Rent" if characters grew up and started families. The mood shifts song to song, like an old unformatted FM station, with each piece is its own world. But with Carr, cast and crew capably in charge, solid forms emerge from abstracted pieces.