Theatre Review: The King and I

The King and I. Music by Richard Rodgers. Book and Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. The Production Company, State Theatre, Victorian Arts Centre, Melbourne.

Truly great musicals – of which Rodgers and Hammerstein’s The King and I must be close to the most perfect example – set every creative team who takes them on an unenviable set of obstacles. The first one is the audience’s experience of the show that has gone before. (One of mine was a disastrous performance in London’s West End when, suffering from laryngitis, Susan Hampshire – who was playing Mrs Anna – had a go at I whistle a happy tune, and then they just cut the rest of her songs. It was, as you might imagine, appalling. Strangely, however, the show is so good that it still managed to shine through the hapless attempt at its presentation.)

I also have exceptionally fond memories of Melbourne’s Arc Musical Theatre Company’s production (many, many moons ago!) – starring Sylvia Picton as a glorious Mrs Anna and Tony Kentuck as The King. And then there is the 20th Century Fox film – the indisputable and most perfect account of this musical there has been, and will ever be.

And while I’m not predicating that every attempt at staging The King and I is measured against the resources of a major motion picture studio, I am certain that the overall experience of a production of this musical (similarly to The Sound of Music – which 20th Century Fox, fighting their way back from financial and artistic oblivion on the back of the troubled (and expensive) Cleopatra, threw everything they could at, resulting in similar perfection) must offer something else other than just a serviceable account of the material.

The Production Company has consistently provided its stars every opportunity to shine in their staged concert performances of some of the great, mostly American, musicals. For some inexplicable reason, this is the first of their productions I have seen – and, in her welcome piece in the program, Production Company Chairman Jeanne Pratt is entirely correct: it won’t be my last. This opportunity to see and hear Rodgers and Hammerstein’s gem almost had me booking to go back and see it a second time. Almost.

The most exciting news is that a star was born in Melbourne’s State Theatre on Wednesday night. Her name is Emily Xiao Wang, and her ‘Tuptim’ was sensational. So too, but less consistently, was Adrian Li Donni’s doomed Lun Tha, and their duets I have dreamed and We kiss in a shadow were the musical highlights of the evening. But nothing either before, or afterwards, compared to Ms Xiao Wang’s absolutely perfect rendition of the early ballad My Lord and Master. Silvie Paladino came close with her sterling rendition of Something Wonderful – but something was missing. Ms Paladino had yet to make the necessary connection to the number: she just didn’t seem to believe it. Yes, it’s a great song – a standard. But within the context of any kind of performance of The King and I, it becomes a great love song, not an anthem – and Ms Paladino’s handling of it was masterful, but a little too efficient.

Chelsea Gibb appeared ill-at-ease as Anna Leonowens, and I never imagined I would hear I whistle a happy tune performed as a big broadway belt. Frankly, I hope I never do again. It’s the first big, instantly recognisable moment – and it served to set a series of alarm bells ringing in my head. I need to declare that I am a R&H traditionalist – and if this was going to be a post-modern interpretation of one of the great acting/singing/dancing leading ladies of the music theatre canon, it was going to be a very one-sided affair. Fortunately, Ms Gibb warmed up as the evening progressed and revealed (to me anyway) a strong upper register that she would do well to instinctively trust a great deal more. Having thoroughly adored her Roxy in Chicago (where the big ‘Broadway belt’ belongs), the revelation of a vastly increased range was exciting.

The King and I, without the famous polka, just isn’t The King and I – and the supreme disappointment resulting from the fact that Kathryn Sproul’s otherwise perfectly versatile central structure didn’t get out of the way so that the most famous sequence in this musical could happen on the huge State Theatre stage was quite palpable.

Musically, Orchestra Victoria – under the direction of Peter Casey – handled the score beautifully. My only reservation was the decision to split the orchestra in two (with the strings on one side of the stage and the brass, woodwind and percussion) on the other. I found this reduced the impact of the sound considerably – resulting in a less than satisfactory over-amplified sensibility. The lack of cohesion also took its toll on The March of The Siamese Children – where it seemed, for an instant, that this wonderful piece of music just got away from them. The choice to split the orchestra like this seemed to also make something of a statement about how much more important the staging imperatives were to the musical ones. Unhappily, even though Terence O’Connell’s direction was beautifully handled, it didn’t illuminate anything particularly new and invigorating about this work that might have meant the splitting of the orchestra was a wise or valid idea.

Alana Scanlan’s choreography (with the exception of a half-hearted polka) was perfect – and the long, troublesome The Small House of Uncle Thomas ballet in the second act was spectacularly imagined and brilliantly danced.

But at the heart of The King and I, is the King – a sensational role for the right performer. And Juan Jackson is precisely the right performer. His near-complete command of this fascinating and entirely unconventional leading man was superb, and one can only imagine that as the season progresses, he will become more comfortable with the many complexities of the role. Further down the track, it’s not at all difficult to imagine Mr Jackson making something of a signature role with his future performances as The King in The King and I.

The death of the King is the death of a wide-eyed, amazed, bewildered child/man who is on the precipice of achieving great things for his country. I cry every time I see the film. I was not moved in quite the same way by this performance. There is a big heart beating in The King and I – that is its monumental power. And when that heart stops beating, it is an immense tragedy. I hope that this wonderful company, through each performance that remains, discovers something more of that heart.

This review was commissioned and first published by Stage Whispers Magazine www.stagewhispers.com.au

Theatre review: The Merchants of Bollywood

The Merchants of Bollywood. Writer/Director Toby Gough; Choreographer Vaibhavi Merchant; Composers Salim and Sulaiman Merchant; Costume Designer Bipin Tanna; Lighting Design Benedick Miller. The State Theatre, Victorian Arts Centre, Melbourne until 28 February, then touring nationally.

India's Bollywood film industry, we are told at least twice during The Merchants of Bollywood, is responsible for over 800 films a year and 15 million tickets sold in a day … which is all very well and good. Astonishing, in fact, as statistics go. Unfortunately, even with these overwhelming data behind it, this quintessentially cinematic phenomenon doesn't necessarily make for great theatre.

A curious mixture of spectacle, acrobatics, rock eisteddfod, Mardi Gras, Mamma Mia!, Grease and theatre, The Merchants of Bollywood suffers enormously from being shoe-horned into the Queen of Proscenium Arch venues – Melbourne's State Theatre – where we are robbed, at point-blank range, of every possibility to engage. Instead, like lemmings, we just squirm in our seats as the high-octane cast make increasingly desperate and, sadly, ultimately pointless efforts to get us on to our feet and into the spirit. If I had stood up to dance, I would have kneed the person in front of me in the back of the head – not to mention the damage I would have done to my knees, shins and the pairs of feet either side of me. And as for those side aisles? They're barely wide enough to walk along, let alone dance in. There is no centre aisle either (unlike Sydney's State Theatre where the show will land in March), into which those audience members who felt compelled, could deliriously spill.

While the large, exuberant cast exude enormous amounts of energy and skill, the choreographic style just doesn't have enough variation early on to match either the skillful dancers' passion for it, or reward us for our attention to it. Yes, the costumes are lovely (and there are lots and lots and lots of them), but the first act becomes incredibly repetitive, as one Bollywood-inspired dance extravaganza after another fills the stage with colour and movement. The exception is the marvellous split-stage (screen) sequence in which the ambitious Ayesha (the fabulous Carol Furtado) recalls the initial, portentous confrontation with her traditionalist father Shantilal (Chander Khanna). In this compelling sequence, the young Ayesha is acted and danced by her remembered younger self, but voiced downstage in a spotlight by the, now, adult Ayehsa. But even with this glimpse of pure theatrical instinct and potential, by interval the show had amassed all the theatrical torque of a seemingly never-ending episode of India's Got Talent.

The second act, relievedly, is a different matter altogether; as the story of a dance dynasty collapsing under the weight of conflict between the ageing, alcoholic Shantilal and Ayesha's dreams of creative independence, takes centre stage. It is the second act, too, that delivers the cultural highlight of the night: a beautiful wedding scene (faintly reminiscent of Mira Nair's sensational 2001 film Monsoon Wedding). Here, the production finally comes resplendently into its own, courtesy of some beautifully observed traditional dancing and costuming, colourful kites, masks and ornate, prancing 'horses'. It also heralds the welcome arrival of the Spinning Drummers of Serendip, who provide a rare and exquisite glimpse into the true cultural significance with which the production may have resonated.

At the end of the night, only one dilemma remains. Indian dance, we are informed, is based on the rhythms of nature. But in the final number, when the traditional dance styles and costumes have merged with Ayesha's MTV-inspired disco/techno grooves, not only does it seem an incredibly uncomfortable fit, but it also suggests that in her effort to embrace her destiny as a modern choreographer, she has actually embraced typically Western, empty-hearted, empty-headed and soulless, showbiz pizazz. And in doing so, she appears to have lost sight of the value of true creative purpose and meaning – which supports, a little too precisely, the depth and passion of her father's clearly articulated fears for her.

Somehow, I don't think that's what was intended.

This review was commissioned and published by Stage Whispers @
www.stagewhispers.com.au