Sundry thoughts on Sunday in the Park with George
On Wednesday last, tkp and I saw 5th Avenue Theater's production of Sunday in the Park with George by Stephen Sondheim (with Hugh Panaro, for all you Phantom fans). This was the version revived last year on Broadway (and I think before that in London) which utilized an entirely different mechanism for recreating "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" on stage.
For those of you who don't know (and are still reading), Sunday is a musical about art, legacy, relationships, and family with the painting-and the painter--at its center. Georges Seurat (in this work-I know nothing of his real life) is really only alive in his work, driving away his lover, Dot, and existing in his own little world of dots. Georges' obsession with his work, his theories of color and light and the way our eyes participate in its perception, make him a perfect vehicle for Sondheim's statement about art, critics, reputation, experimentation, creativity, and the modern art world. It also offers the staging gimmick that everyone in the play is a character from the painting, and the entire thing is realized finally in a stagewide tableau; a concept that in the second act gets another novel twist. I could go on at length about various aspects of this play, but I want to hit on a few points.
Like I said, this production used a very different medium for the creation of the painting on the stage. I've only seen it on video, but the version filmed for PBS with Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters (!!!) uses very conventional techniques, which is not to say crude. Aside from the actors, the pieces are two-dimensional set pieces that float in and out, which obviously takes technical know-how and choreography but it's dazzling in and of itself, though the overall effect was, I think, extremely attractive. The new one uses projected, digital imagery and it is indeed a marvelous use of technology. You essentially get to see Georges “sketch” the painting, and build it from the elements floating in and out. It's very “neat” and it means the stage can be manipulated in nearly infinite ways. Georges' song where he imagines the two dogs in the painting having a conversation is effected with two small, portable screens which allow the animated dogs to move upon them. In the second act, when Georges' great-grandson George (also an artist) is marketing himself in the gallery the painting now hangs in, multiple Georges are projected interacting with party guests.
Clips from the Seattle production
It works, and it definitely allows more options. But I think I prefer the original, if memory serves. (I can't find a decent youtube clip, or I'd post that, too). The animated “paintings” are sort of distracting, their movements uncanny. It's actually funnier for the second soldier to be a cutout that the first one lugs around with him. I wonder, too, what it says about Georges' imagination: in the dog scene, he originally had to play it against two totally still, featureless cutout dog silhouettes. Now they leap and “act.” One isn't necessarily better, but the simplicity of the first version appealed to me. It also, for me, captured the sense of the painting better. But I suspect that may not be an objective view, and that an argument could be made that this better realizes an artistic “vision.” One could alternately argue that there is a more than passing similarity between the new effects and George's “Chromolume,” an “avant garde” sculpture-invention involving flashing dots with musical accompaniment. Hmm.
As I said, there is so much I want to talk about I almost can't decide where to start. But there's far too much and I want to hit on what I think is an extremely important point, and something that makes Sondheim-and maybe this play specifically-unique in my mind. It's about a closed-off obsessive who can't relate to people. In fact, I'm not sure the play succeeds in getting us to relate very strongly with anyone in it. There is Dot, who is engaging, but in the end this play is emotionally compelling for reasons that I don't think have anything to do with the actual characters or concrete plot. And I don't even think those are faults. It mirrors Georges that way, after all. And yet, at the same time, it is so compelling that I teared up multiple times. Over art. Over the idea of family and art as dual legacies. Over... I don't know, the spill of words illuminating those themes coming from a writer who has often been criticized as Georges was, for being too cold, too emotionless. I don't think I've seen another musical that doesn't center around the characters using music to manipulate you emotionally and outline their angst or joy or whatever. This is incredible to me. The fact that it works-for me, and for others I was sitting next to-seems amazing. It makes me wonder what we're missing, in musical theater, where everything feels the same to me and where music is often used to the exact same effect and yet there's this. Maybe it's just the perfect combination of those themes with those mediums that works for me, and you can't do that over and over or even maybe ever again, but its existence is a marvel.
Obviously I'm falling over myself inarticulately in my effort to say this, and that's part of the weirdness. I can't say, “I cried because the Phantom was so tragic” or “man, Billy Bigelow really wanted to do right by his kid for those five minutes” or “wow, Tony and Maria really love each other.” I'm crying because it's about art and kids and words and a painting as someone's family. I'm crying because it wants to tell me something important and it doesn't seem to be telling me how to feel about it and doesn't seem to care if I cry or not. And if that's exactly the effect it was intended to have, then it's even better than I thought.
Above all else, if you get a chance, I definitely recommend it.
For those of you who don't know (and are still reading), Sunday is a musical about art, legacy, relationships, and family with the painting-and the painter--at its center. Georges Seurat (in this work-I know nothing of his real life) is really only alive in his work, driving away his lover, Dot, and existing in his own little world of dots. Georges' obsession with his work, his theories of color and light and the way our eyes participate in its perception, make him a perfect vehicle for Sondheim's statement about art, critics, reputation, experimentation, creativity, and the modern art world. It also offers the staging gimmick that everyone in the play is a character from the painting, and the entire thing is realized finally in a stagewide tableau; a concept that in the second act gets another novel twist. I could go on at length about various aspects of this play, but I want to hit on a few points.
Like I said, this production used a very different medium for the creation of the painting on the stage. I've only seen it on video, but the version filmed for PBS with Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters (!!!) uses very conventional techniques, which is not to say crude. Aside from the actors, the pieces are two-dimensional set pieces that float in and out, which obviously takes technical know-how and choreography but it's dazzling in and of itself, though the overall effect was, I think, extremely attractive. The new one uses projected, digital imagery and it is indeed a marvelous use of technology. You essentially get to see Georges “sketch” the painting, and build it from the elements floating in and out. It's very “neat” and it means the stage can be manipulated in nearly infinite ways. Georges' song where he imagines the two dogs in the painting having a conversation is effected with two small, portable screens which allow the animated dogs to move upon them. In the second act, when Georges' great-grandson George (also an artist) is marketing himself in the gallery the painting now hangs in, multiple Georges are projected interacting with party guests.
Click to view
Clips from the Seattle production
It works, and it definitely allows more options. But I think I prefer the original, if memory serves. (I can't find a decent youtube clip, or I'd post that, too). The animated “paintings” are sort of distracting, their movements uncanny. It's actually funnier for the second soldier to be a cutout that the first one lugs around with him. I wonder, too, what it says about Georges' imagination: in the dog scene, he originally had to play it against two totally still, featureless cutout dog silhouettes. Now they leap and “act.” One isn't necessarily better, but the simplicity of the first version appealed to me. It also, for me, captured the sense of the painting better. But I suspect that may not be an objective view, and that an argument could be made that this better realizes an artistic “vision.” One could alternately argue that there is a more than passing similarity between the new effects and George's “Chromolume,” an “avant garde” sculpture-invention involving flashing dots with musical accompaniment. Hmm.
As I said, there is so much I want to talk about I almost can't decide where to start. But there's far too much and I want to hit on what I think is an extremely important point, and something that makes Sondheim-and maybe this play specifically-unique in my mind. It's about a closed-off obsessive who can't relate to people. In fact, I'm not sure the play succeeds in getting us to relate very strongly with anyone in it. There is Dot, who is engaging, but in the end this play is emotionally compelling for reasons that I don't think have anything to do with the actual characters or concrete plot. And I don't even think those are faults. It mirrors Georges that way, after all. And yet, at the same time, it is so compelling that I teared up multiple times. Over art. Over the idea of family and art as dual legacies. Over... I don't know, the spill of words illuminating those themes coming from a writer who has often been criticized as Georges was, for being too cold, too emotionless. I don't think I've seen another musical that doesn't center around the characters using music to manipulate you emotionally and outline their angst or joy or whatever. This is incredible to me. The fact that it works-for me, and for others I was sitting next to-seems amazing. It makes me wonder what we're missing, in musical theater, where everything feels the same to me and where music is often used to the exact same effect and yet there's this. Maybe it's just the perfect combination of those themes with those mediums that works for me, and you can't do that over and over or even maybe ever again, but its existence is a marvel.
Obviously I'm falling over myself inarticulately in my effort to say this, and that's part of the weirdness. I can't say, “I cried because the Phantom was so tragic” or “man, Billy Bigelow really wanted to do right by his kid for those five minutes” or “wow, Tony and Maria really love each other.” I'm crying because it's about art and kids and words and a painting as someone's family. I'm crying because it wants to tell me something important and it doesn't seem to be telling me how to feel about it and doesn't seem to care if I cry or not. And if that's exactly the effect it was intended to have, then it's even better than I thought.
Above all else, if you get a chance, I definitely recommend it.