"42nd Street': Dissenting review

When actors won't sing,
and singers won't act

JIM RUTTER

Politicians like to say that merely throwing money at a problem won’t solve it. That applies to theater, too. In the Walnut Street Theatre’s 42nd Street, the sheer magnitude of the staging can’t redeem all of the production’s faults, particularly Charles Abbott’s direction and the frequently flat performances from almost all of the principal actors.

It’s one thing for a musical to hire singers who can’t act well, or actors who sing poorly. But this production employed singers who don’t even want to act, and actors who perform as if they don’t enjoy singing, which was true for everyone on stage but Mark Jacoby’s Julian Marsh, Diane Findlay’s Maggie Jones, and the superb chorus of dancers.

Moreover, Jacoby and Findlay were the only folks on stage who performed as if they were having a good time in this production— even while Jacoby had to display a cool reserve, he still managed to look cool while doing so. And both of them could act and sing, whereas the rest of the principals seemed indifferent (at best) to fulfilling more than one of these requirements.

If a scene didn’t call for Jacoby’s presence, the interaction and dialogue between the remaining characters had no life to it. While Cara Cooper (as the ingénue Peggy Sawyer) and David Elder (as leading man Bill Lawler) sang and danced well, neither put half as much energy into their acting— a major deficiency, since 42nd Street contains a great deal of dialogue. And Abbott’s direction only enhanced their lifelessness. The sluggish pace of these sequence seemed that much slower in contrast to the intensity of the dance numbers that punctuated them.

To be sure, the Walnut didn’t waste all of what it lavished upon this production. The costumes certainly recalled the era, and the lively, brilliant ensemble imparted the sense of magnificence that a big-budget production can achieve. Mary Jane Houdina’s choreography— the high point of the show— infused the entire production with a sense of sheer joy as her dancers lit up the stage with dazzling energy (a good thing, too, because something needed to light up the stage, as John Hoey’s lighting offered little in the way of effect).

When the ensemble sang or danced, or Jacoby and Findlay acted or sang, this production packed a glamour-tinged intensity that was marvelous to watch. The remainder only made me think that Abbott wanted to draw the sharpest possible distinction between the other elements of this production that looked miserable in contrast. Sometimes you get what you pay for.



To read a response, clicik here.
To view our other reviews of 42nd Street, click here and here.