A Nose (and More) Transformed

Cyrano de Bergerac at the American Airlines Theater

 

            The Roundabout Theater Company’s new production of Cyrano de Bergerac, the brilliant 1897 play by Edmond Rostand, is witty, fast-paced, and action-packed.  One could, broadly, call it a comedy, but it is so much more than that.  Cyrano is a swashbuckling war tale, a patriotic call to arms, a witty satire (or, more accurately, a celebration of wit), but especially a love story between the titular character—who was born with a nose so large his mother disowned him—and his cousin, Roxane.  Leaving aside the incestuous implications, it is a beautiful story, well-composed and vastly entertaining.

            Certainly this is owed in large part to the efforts of Rostand, who is remembered as one of the greatest French dramatists who has ever lived, but also to the British translator, Ranjit Bolt, whose brilliant transcription of Rostand’s rhyming couplets from French to English could be seen as a crowning achievement.  Bolt’s translation is not overlong if also not simplistic, and loses no brilliance in the journey between languages.

            But then, credit too goes to the cast, who are fully multidimensional in their portrayals of characters whose vices range from lust to intolerance.  Douglas Hodge is fantastic as Cyrano, exuding his valor and acumen, and Clémence Poésy is more than a match for him as an intellectual and beautiful Roxane.  The ensemble is numerous, and all are equally exciting in their talent.

            Seeing Cyrano, especially this version, is akin to viewing a piece by Shakespeare at the Globe.  The translation feels so beholden to the original that the attitudes of the late nineteenth century seem to infuse the production.  Perhaps Rostand in the Park would not bring as many theatergoers to New York, but it should.  Rostand’s rhyming couplets follow one another like heartbeats.  The electricity on the stage during the fight scenes (expertly choreographed by Jacob Grigolia-Rosenbaum) is difficult to describe, but suffice it to say that the only way for them to impact the audience more would be if Cyrano actually skewered his enemies at their conclusions.

            There is an aura about Cyrano that most Broadway plays, even those seeking to harken back to the age of masterpieces, cannot attain.  It is infused with humor but also tension and sincerity, to the point where it is indefinable.  Yet it does not confuse us or drive us away, rather drawing us closer to learn and understand more about its story.  Cyrano is unique.  This, unfortunately, is a quality not to be found on the Great White Way in this day and age.

            In the magnificently realized story, Cyrano, a member of the Paris guards, and his disciple, Christian (Kyle Soller), are both in love with Roxane.  Cyrano cannot approach her due to his looks, and Christian, though handsome, is inarticulate.  Cyrano, seeking the thrill of wooing his love without the rejection that it would surely precede, writes Christian’s “lines,” so to speak.  He prompts him under Roxane’s balcony (in a pivotal and beautiful scene), writes his love letters for him, and trains him to be what he is not.  Meanwhile, he pines for Roxane himself.

            As the play approaches its finish, it becomes more and more difficult to tell if Cyrano is, in fact, a comedy or a tragedy.  We weep for Cyrano, but we laugh at his antics, and we want for him what he cannot bring himself to take.  Cyrano may be complicated, or he may be un-.  Either way, we desperately want for him to succeed.  In the end, as with any great character, we feel that we are him and he is us.  The character of Cyrano may know that he is a man of the people on the stage, but he cannot be aware what influence he has the world over.

Second Best to None

A Chorus Line at the Paper Mill Playhouse

            It takes great talent to perform the late Marvin Hamlisch’s masterpiece, A Chorus Line, with sincerity.  There are as many poignant soliloquies as there are overzealous attempts at humor, and in the Paper Mill Playhouse’s production, running through October 28^th, some are more talented than others.  But is that not what the chorus is about?  A Chorus Line was penned to tell the story of a grossly underrepresented group of artists in musical theater, and the numerous yet somehow vastly generous cast members embody them perfectly.  When a star takes his place in front of the chorus, it’s difficult to tell what the latter is thinking, but when they are given center stage, one can discern their life stories simply from the way they dance.

            This show, and this well-defined production along with it, dramatizes the audition process beautifully, bringing the audience to a human connection with the performers.  There are so many, never in the same formation, never one taking preference over another, yet each is unique and relatable, a testament of course to the show’s creators (Hamlisch, Michael Bennett, James Kirkwood, Nicholas Dante, Edward Kleban), but also to the actors who play the parts in this edition of a long-running cash cow (and rightfully so) for the Public Theater.  Some take the spotlight better than others—Jessica Lee Goldyn as Cassie turned the character’s impassioned dance number into a sleepy, ineffectual bore—but all in all the cast was as impressive as they should be, given the material they had to work with.

            The set, as always with A Chorus Line, was simple—an empty stage, a mirror covering the back wall, room for the dancers to do their work.  The costumes were leotards and dance shoes.  Some musicals can go bare-bones and seem like they’re desperately trying to do so (*cough* Once *cough*), but not A Chorus Line.  The stage seems so much fuller with the presence of the auditioning chorus, and though some sudden light changes may confuse, James Dardenne’s scenic design quite agrees with the production.

            And then, unavoidably, there are the songs.  One can’t quite help but mourn Hamlisch’s passing at every spiking, perfectly tonal note in the instrumental portion of “I Hope I Get It,” and this is just beginning.  Why name songs when the score is so evenly paced in its brilliance?—But I shall.  Mike Cannon and Amanda Rose as married couple Kristine and Al are abundantly talented, and their collective aura is not wasted on one of Hamlisch’s best-timed duets, “Sing!”  Gabrielle Ruiz as Diana (or “Morales!”) is merely noticeable until her first solo, “Nothing,” which she performs fantastically.  However, no solo can compare to the perfect mesh of the company in their ensemble numbers, “Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love,” “What I Did For Love” (led by Ruiz) and, of course, “One.”

            There are three separate occasions in which “One,” the chosen audition number, is performed.  In the first, when Cassie is having it out with her former lover, director Zach (Martin Harvey), and he professes that she cannot possibly want to be in the chorus, they turn to the rest of the cast, going into the song’s first chorus.  Their smiles are equally wide, their steps exact, and for the first time, we realize, though the characters seemed so unique, they are exactly the same.  They are merely part of a whole—struggling artists, wannabes, a chorus—one colony, one mass.  In the first instance, this is what the “One” spoken of in the song truly means.  It is beautiful in a way, but also deeply disturbing.

            The second time, shortly afterward, Cassie has rejoined the rest, and the group is celebrating their—pardon the pun—“oneness.”  Maybe, after all, they are not the same, but the idea that they can function as a singularity is impressive and beyond mere mortals’ comprehension.  In this case, the “One” is celebratory—look at what those dancers can do, when they work together!

            The third performance of “One” is the finale.  In this utterly identifiable number, the stage lights come on (beautifully, thanks to lighting designer Julie Duro), the mirror folds over (for reasons the choreography makes obvious), and the cast members come back on to do their ubiquitous number—this time dressed in golden tuxedos and top hats.  This time, even, ironically, in their matching outfits, we can recognize that they are unique entities who have joined together to create something bigger than they are.  This time the “One” is each and every one of them, and they are larger than life, to be revered.  There is something godlike about this number.  Let us worship at the feet of A Chorus Line, that we may one day learn the secret, the deeply emotional epicenter, of what makes this show such a glittering example of perfect musical theater.