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Under the direction and conducting of Ted Sperling, a longtime Broadway musician and musical director, this Show Boat goes to extravagant lengths to deliver the goods, which it knows come primarily from the material. So don't expect this to be one of those evenings that's sumptuously designed, with physical trappings you could transplant to a legit house tomorrow. (Tracy Christensen's costumes are basically ornamented eveningwear; with the exception of a picture-postcard backdrop, Allen Moyer's sets barely qualify as such.) Likewise, don't expect choices made for expediency or message, as was true of the dire Carnegie Hall back in 2010. No, Sperling is intent on giving you a Show Boat that makes you understand why the original became—and remains—a game-changer. This means performing huge swaths of Hammerstein's book (based on Edna Ferber's sprawling 1926 novel), which depicts three generations and some 40 years of a family that travels the Mississippi giving shows on the resilient Cotton Blossom and witnesses enormous personal and social upheaval, even when there's little or no underscoring. This also means exhuming and reenergizing songs that are rarely (if ever) done live, but shed vital context on this complex work.
Okay, there's no "In Dahomey" or "Hey, Feller!"—two of my personal favorites—but you can't have everything. Given how much Sperling does give you of what Kern and Hammerstein wrote, it seems counterproductive to complain about any of the selection, especially given that all the traditional numbers—"Make Believe," "Ol' Man River," "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man," "Life On the Wicked Stage," "You Are Love," "Why Do I Love You?", "Bill"—are of course here. The overall effect is less that of a concert than a living, breathing, dazzling recreation of John McGlinn's stellar 1988 studio cast recording of the score, and for the aficionado, or even someone who'd like to become one, no higher praise is possible. Could one nitpick? Sure. Even if Sperling was uninterested in mimicking a full production, he could have depended less on stand-and-sing (or, occasionally, sit-and-sing) staging and proto-operetta indicative hand gestures, and his pacing of the wrenching final scene would be better if it were more relaxed. Randy Skinner's choreography, though period-attractive, is on the light side, and tends to put the focus on places and people who don't quite deserve it. And a few line and timing flubs here and there suggest the cast could have done with another rehearsal or two. They're a pretty solid group, though. Of no one is this more true than Lauren Worsham. The leading lady of A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder is ideal as Magnolia Hawkes, the young girl whose growth into a woman (and Broadway star) fuels the story: Her soprano is as sumptuous as ever, and she wields a precious, plaintive innocence that's just right for alternately expanding and shattering as she discovers how difficult and unfair life can be. Worsham is well matched by Julian Ovenden, greasily appealing as no-account river gambler Gaylord Ravenal, who's not able to give up his old ways even when he falls for Magnolia. If Ovenden's voice occasionally rings shallow and reedy, it matches well with Ravenal's rangy songs, and, by highlighting the character's gutlessness, unquestionably proves the wisdom of casting the role with a tenor rather than a baritone.
No one in the company is weak, but two of the leads could be put to better use. Fred Willard is a charming film comedian who should be fine casting for Cotton Blossom impresario Cap'n Andy, but a lack of precise characterization and on-point theatricality at Thursday night's performance kept many of his jokes from landing with the full force they can. And though Norm Lewis is a superb singer with all the authority needed to play Joe, the song cries out for a bass rather than a high baritone, and though he could still make "Ol' Man River" a showstopper, Lewis couldn't summon the force to pierce your soul. Everything else here, however, comes pretty darn close, and does it the old-fashioned way: by devoting its time and talent to the things that actually matter. I never minded that this wasn't a spectacle of the type you usually see from the Philharmonic's Broadway offerings, or even what you get at Encores!. A ravishing score, perfectly played and searingly sung, and enough of the book to remind you how human and powerful music and theatre can be when they're in inseparable union—that's all you need. This Show Boat has all that in abundance, and it's more than enough to ensure the rest just keeps rolling, thrillingly, along.
Show Boat
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