I Was a Middle-Aged Fangirl: Sweeney Todd
I've been crazy about the Stephen Sondheim musical Sweeney Todd since it came out in 1979. My original 2-LP set of the Angela Lansbury production is long gone, but I may well have worn it out, and that was the first show I saw on my first trip to New York City in 1979.
Last night I went to see the current revival for the second time. The first time, last December, I went with executrix, and I got so carried away trying to write about it that I never managed to post.
The original production was characterized by a big cast, a big orchestra, and a winking, naughty style based on Victorian music hall performances. The latest rendition, imported from England where it began in a regional theater and worked its way up to the West End, is a stark, minimalist horror show whose bitter humor is unsettlingly intimate.
Ten performers both sing and play the score, all of them onstage throughout the show. They prowl about the raw set restlessly, and often interact at a distance, enhancing the sense of anomie and isolation of these tormented souls. When all ten are singing, though, the sound is big enough to be very powerful. (Download The Ballad of Sweeney Todd.)
The shaven-headed Michael Cerveris shows his rock ‘n’ roll roots in the angry brooding and volatile rages of the title character. In company he’s quiet, self-contained, even genteel -- all the things neighbors say about serial killers after the fact. But inside, his mind is whirling as he mutters rapid-fire lyrics such as
There’s a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
and the vermin of the world inhabit it
And its morals aren’t worth
what a pig could spit
And it goes by the name of London.
(Download No Place Like London.)
Patti LuPone’s Mrs. Lovett is a woman who looks out for herself first, with none of the bawdy affection of Lansbury’s portrayal. LuPone is brutish and practical, with a dark carnality that makes it easy to imagine her up to her elbows in flour and lard as she grinds the pie meat three times for smoothness -- and to make it unrecognizable. She’s got a frankly middle-aged figure which she still gussies up in mini skirts and sequins, topped off with inky black hair and gash of carmine red lipstick. She wiggles boldly as she totters on strappy heels in ripped fishnet stockings.
Cerveris treats her mostly with lip service; it’s clear his mind is elsewhere most of the time, plotting his revenge on the evil judge. When he does engage with her, the intensity is alarming. He has his hands on her neck as often as he does on her pert bottom. She’s the sort of woman who shrugs it off and keeps moving forward, prattling merrily about a seaside vacation as she polishes a bucket full of hulking butcher’s tools. Cerveris nods vacantly throughout this recitation, gazing into the distance and stroking his razor contemplatively.
Seeing it last night, the original cast from last winter was still intact, and it was interesting to observe how they'd settled into their roles after eight months, fine-tuning the timing and the sly humor. The signature piece of the show remains a stunner, with the two leads trying to crack each other up with their horrible puns. (Download A Little Priest.)
Most of the other characters are also played against the types of the Victorian melodrama. Judge Turpin ( Mark Jacoby) seems less Simon Legree than Atlantic City mob boss, with his well-cut suit and gold pinkie ring and his arrogant presumption of power. Diana Dimarzio’s beggar woman is not just an object of pity or fun, but an in-your-face presence all to familiar to most New Yorkers, alternately wheedling and accusing. The ingenue Johanna, played by Lauren Molina, has a geeky eagerness that mocks the ideal of the passive heroine.
The two characters who do run to type are Alexander Gemignani’s Beadle, a Saturnine, mustachioed heavy, and Anthony, the juvenile, in an earnest portrayal by Benjamin Magnuson.
The part of the rival barber Pirelli is played (without comment) by a woman. Without introducing another female voice to the ensemble, the tonal balance would have been off for the choral parts, though Executrix felt that the boy Tobias could have just as easily have been played by a woman.
And Tobias is one of my problems with both the show as written and with this production. A half-wit boy who goes from Pirelli’s employ to Mrs. Lovett’s, he’s a sentimental creature, a sort of holy fool. I think I could stomach him better if the cast didn’t already feature the deranged beggar woman crying gloom and doom. Worse yet, he’s forced to commit the age-hold horror movie trope of singing a nursery rhyme off-key in a whispery voice to convey the contrast of innocence and evil at a climactic moment in the show. Toby’s not just dim, he’s clearly mad. He begins and ends the show in a strait jacket and a gag, and is dressed throughout in ragged pajamas and slippers. He’s crucial to the action, but he’s mawkish in the worst Broadway manner. Manoel Felciano’s sweet tenor at least made his songs charming to listen to.
Now rather than natter on forever, I'm just gonna get a bit linky. Here's a pic of Angela Lansbury and Len Cariou in the original 1979 production:
Angela Lansbury and Len Cariou in 1979
And the New York Times review of that version.
Here are Lupone and Cerveris in the present staging:
Michael Cerveris and Patti LuPone in 2005
And here's the New York Times review and an AV slideshow presentation, also from the Times.
The real fangirl thing I did, though, was to purchase the soundtrack in the lobby and then hang around the stage door to get my libretto autographed by the stars. It's the first time I've ever done that, as I am horrible, stuttering mess when confronted with actual stars, but it was really fun and now I have this cool album. I'm all squeeful!
Last night I went to see the current revival for the second time. The first time, last December, I went with executrix, and I got so carried away trying to write about it that I never managed to post.
The original production was characterized by a big cast, a big orchestra, and a winking, naughty style based on Victorian music hall performances. The latest rendition, imported from England where it began in a regional theater and worked its way up to the West End, is a stark, minimalist horror show whose bitter humor is unsettlingly intimate.
Ten performers both sing and play the score, all of them onstage throughout the show. They prowl about the raw set restlessly, and often interact at a distance, enhancing the sense of anomie and isolation of these tormented souls. When all ten are singing, though, the sound is big enough to be very powerful. (Download The Ballad of Sweeney Todd.)
The shaven-headed Michael Cerveris shows his rock ‘n’ roll roots in the angry brooding and volatile rages of the title character. In company he’s quiet, self-contained, even genteel -- all the things neighbors say about serial killers after the fact. But inside, his mind is whirling as he mutters rapid-fire lyrics such as
There’s a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
and the vermin of the world inhabit it
And its morals aren’t worth
what a pig could spit
And it goes by the name of London.
(Download No Place Like London.)
Patti LuPone’s Mrs. Lovett is a woman who looks out for herself first, with none of the bawdy affection of Lansbury’s portrayal. LuPone is brutish and practical, with a dark carnality that makes it easy to imagine her up to her elbows in flour and lard as she grinds the pie meat three times for smoothness -- and to make it unrecognizable. She’s got a frankly middle-aged figure which she still gussies up in mini skirts and sequins, topped off with inky black hair and gash of carmine red lipstick. She wiggles boldly as she totters on strappy heels in ripped fishnet stockings.
Cerveris treats her mostly with lip service; it’s clear his mind is elsewhere most of the time, plotting his revenge on the evil judge. When he does engage with her, the intensity is alarming. He has his hands on her neck as often as he does on her pert bottom. She’s the sort of woman who shrugs it off and keeps moving forward, prattling merrily about a seaside vacation as she polishes a bucket full of hulking butcher’s tools. Cerveris nods vacantly throughout this recitation, gazing into the distance and stroking his razor contemplatively.
Seeing it last night, the original cast from last winter was still intact, and it was interesting to observe how they'd settled into their roles after eight months, fine-tuning the timing and the sly humor. The signature piece of the show remains a stunner, with the two leads trying to crack each other up with their horrible puns. (Download A Little Priest.)
Most of the other characters are also played against the types of the Victorian melodrama. Judge Turpin ( Mark Jacoby) seems less Simon Legree than Atlantic City mob boss, with his well-cut suit and gold pinkie ring and his arrogant presumption of power. Diana Dimarzio’s beggar woman is not just an object of pity or fun, but an in-your-face presence all to familiar to most New Yorkers, alternately wheedling and accusing. The ingenue Johanna, played by Lauren Molina, has a geeky eagerness that mocks the ideal of the passive heroine.
The two characters who do run to type are Alexander Gemignani’s Beadle, a Saturnine, mustachioed heavy, and Anthony, the juvenile, in an earnest portrayal by Benjamin Magnuson.
The part of the rival barber Pirelli is played (without comment) by a woman. Without introducing another female voice to the ensemble, the tonal balance would have been off for the choral parts, though Executrix felt that the boy Tobias could have just as easily have been played by a woman.
And Tobias is one of my problems with both the show as written and with this production. A half-wit boy who goes from Pirelli’s employ to Mrs. Lovett’s, he’s a sentimental creature, a sort of holy fool. I think I could stomach him better if the cast didn’t already feature the deranged beggar woman crying gloom and doom. Worse yet, he’s forced to commit the age-hold horror movie trope of singing a nursery rhyme off-key in a whispery voice to convey the contrast of innocence and evil at a climactic moment in the show. Toby’s not just dim, he’s clearly mad. He begins and ends the show in a strait jacket and a gag, and is dressed throughout in ragged pajamas and slippers. He’s crucial to the action, but he’s mawkish in the worst Broadway manner. Manoel Felciano’s sweet tenor at least made his songs charming to listen to.
Now rather than natter on forever, I'm just gonna get a bit linky. Here's a pic of Angela Lansbury and Len Cariou in the original 1979 production:
Angela Lansbury and Len Cariou in 1979
And the New York Times review of that version.
Here are Lupone and Cerveris in the present staging:
Michael Cerveris and Patti LuPone in 2005
And here's the New York Times review and an AV slideshow presentation, also from the Times.
The real fangirl thing I did, though, was to purchase the soundtrack in the lobby and then hang around the stage door to get my libretto autographed by the stars. It's the first time I've ever done that, as I am horrible, stuttering mess when confronted with actual stars, but it was really fun and now I have this cool album. I'm all squeeful!