San Diego Arts"Bonnie & Clyde" at the La Jolla Playhouse
Bloody violence and sexy young criminals are fully as fascinating today as they ever were. They just tend to get caught before they can get the legend really launched. Credit scientific advances in law enforcement, the rise of stool pigeons as hobbyists, a prosperity that’s given everybody more to lose or whatever, there probably won’t be any more Bonnies and Clydes. (As Bertolt Brecht asked, in context only slightly different, “What is robbing a bank compared to founding a bank?”) Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker earned minor-league immortality thanks to a roll of film they left lying around when rousted by cops in one of the many gun-fights they starred in during their four-year Depression-Era robbery and murder spree through Texas and adjacent states. Those photos, developed and circulated by a local paper, show the handsome Clyde and the pretty Bonnie well-dressed, fully armed and ready for fun. Thus illustrated, their notoriety soared with each episode and their bloody finish was such a smash hit that the small Louisiana town nearest the highway where they were gunned down by a cop posse still holds an annual B&C festival. (The sleek 1967 film with Warren Beatty’s adorable smile and Faye Dunaway cheekbones didn’t hurt either.) Really, of course, these two and the assorted misfits surrounding them were just bad guys who stole for a living and murdered anybody in the way. Them’s the facts despite books full of complicating data and speculation. But, darn it, they were so cute and so seemingly inseparable, and there was all the blood and shooting, so how can theatre guys looking for good myths to borrow ignore them forever? They can’t, of course. Nor should they. There’s really nothing much to moralize over except a little bit of tough times causing dark deeds. And there’s no suspense at all. Doom hovers over the story like a miasma. But there is plenty of opportunity for style. So enter Frank Wildhorn, whose heavy-breathing musical-theatre pieces live or die according to how much fun his audiences find in them. (Quite a bit, in the case of “The Scarlet Pimpernel.” Less so with a “Dracula” previously exposed at the La Jolla Playhouse.) Wildhorn is back in La Jolla, with a solid pair of collaborators in lyricist Don Black and book-writer Ivan Menchell, for a game try at “Bonnie & Clyde,” staged efficiently by Jeff Calhoun. Menchell, staying well clear of the tangled mess that is the actual history, has fashioned a utilitarian libretto which displays smoothly the downhill arc of this criminal pair. They are likeable and almost tragic, though COMPLETELY unexplained, even if the biggest gunfight features a freeze during which Clyde soliloquizes on this and that. The songs are equally devoid of motivation, preferring conventional sentiments of melancholy conflict between True Love and family. But they are even more efficient than the book. In fact, they mostly move the action along at an enthusiastic clip, never letting character complexity slow down the pace. These are songs that don’t last but work very well while they’re happening, a good way to go with musical theatre. This way, Jeff Calhoun gets just what he needs for a consistent polish that rarely sags even though the show, in its world premiere, is much too long. Take, for example, the opening number, “Short Order World.” Bonnie’s a waitress who is sure there must be more to life and Clyde is a winsome rascal who assures her that there is, in the next song “This World Will Remember Me,” and that he’s the one to take her there. Only there’s this trio of cops singing “The Long Arm of the Law,” with every cliche that suggests. And bang, bang, bang, there’s the whole show within a quarter of an hour, presented with swagger and a relentless rambling momentum that tends to return when needed. Calhoun’s really good at this and the book, lyrics and music (orchestrated adequately by John McDaniel) seem to be at his service. There are only 17 actors in the company. Who would have thought, given all the crowd scenes and the parade of minor characters, from assorted victims to Texas Governor “Ma” Ferguson? Laura Osnes is an appealing Bonnie, able to say “I’m too good for Texas” without sounding stuck-up and capable of major sincerity in song and dialogue. Stark Sands, proud of his smile and looking good in a fedora, is comfortable in Clyde’s leading-man strut. Wayne Duvall unapologetically uses nearly all the stereotypes of Southern bully sheriff at nearly full strength. Michael Lanning has a comparable arsenal of pompous preacher schtick that remains mostly untapped. Claybourne Elder as Clyde’s malleable brother and Melissa van der Schyff, the reluctant sister-in-law, get virtually nothing to do but wring their hands and waffle. Other family members, cops, reporters, merchants and ordinary citizens are all played with a bland efficiency that suits Calhoun’s downhill style. For years now, through shifting managements and many a designer, the La Jolla Playhouse has continued to get superior results from multi-purpose scenery and provocative projections. No change this time, thanks to the textured, evocative designs of Tobin Ost (who also did the accurate and restrained costuming) and the sculptured illumination of Michael Gilliam (lights) and Aaron Rhyne (projections.) I’m not sure who to thank for the shootout but the props were impressive and the pyrotechnics even more so, leaving a sharp and specific haze, smelling of serious explosives. It’s hard not to respect this show and the professionalism it shows. But it’s impossible to take it very seriously as anything more than tabloid dabbling. That may be sufficient. DOWNLOARD MUSICAL NUMBERS HERE
 Welton Jones About the author: Welton Jones has been reviewing shows for more than 50 years, 35 of those years at the San Diego Union-Tribune and, now, nearly 10 for SanDiego.com, where he wrote the first reviews to appear on the site. More by this author Subscribe to Arts:
|
Weather
Share This Page |
