‘Bright Star’ Shines at Old Globe

San Diego Premieres Steve Martin’s New Musical

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In his program note, Old Globe Artistic Director Barry Edelstein calls Bright Star a “great yarn with a heart as big as a mountain and a soul as deep as the sea.”  A “yarn” proves to be an apt description for this show, because the characters in this completely new bluegrass musical weave their story in a lovely, homespun way.  The creators set about knitting that story using the Broadway formula, but—doing so without customary Broadway-style flash—the audience discovers they have invested in the story without knowing they have fallen for the usual tricks.  After an hour of this knitting, the feeling when the houselights come up for intermission is as if the audience discovered they were suddenly wearing sweaters they hadn’t been donning at the top of the show.

Watching this bit of handiwork on stage is a treat.  The work is the Old Globe’s fifth dramatic collaboration with funny man, actor, playwright, banjoist, songwriter Steve Martin over the last two decades, and the theatre has been involved with Bright Star for the past two years.  The piece underwent the workshop process in February and March in New York; now, in October, it receives a full and proper stage treatment.

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As for the show itself, the story opens on a young veteran making his way home to North Carolina immediately following World War II.  A.J. Shively brings an exuberance to the character of the young soldier, Billy Cane.  At the outset, Billy appears to be the main protagonist; he sets out to become a writer upon his return to civilian life.  His storyline, however, is eclipsed quickly by that of Alice Murphy, his editor.  Throughout the show, the story jumps like a handy game of hopscotch between Miss Murphy in 1945 and her younger self in 1923.  We enjoy Billy’s story arc, but we actually invest in Miss Murphy’s.  Carmen Cusack shines bright as a…well, er—star—in the role of Alice Murphy.  Aside from the expected challenges of portraying the same character 22 years apart in back-to-back scenes—which she accomplishes seamlessly—her voice is particularly suited for delivering both the folksy joy as well as the aching melancholy that the bluegrass score demands at different times.

One such moment of aching melancholy is the second act number “I Had a Vision.”  Though the score overall is quite tuneful, this number—shared by Miss Cusack and Wayne Alan Wilcox who plays Alice Murphy’s teenage flame, Jimmy Ray Dobbs—is the most poignant song in the show.  For anyone in their mid-thirties to mid-forties whose present life is different than their twenty-year old self had planned, this song is especially heart-breaking.  By this point in Act II, that same audience who realized they were wearing sweaters look down to discover that somehow the cast has also sewn on buttons and has closed the garment around them.

The garment is plenty comfortable.  Steve Martin—as composer and book writer this time—teams with lyricist Edie Brickell to fashion a bluegrass score that is at times straight up Appalachian hoedown (“Whaddya Say, Jimmy Ray” and “Another Round”) and at other times more of a show tune sensibility (“A Man’s Gotta Do” and the aforementioned “I Had a Vision”).  The cast generally balances bluegrass and Broadway quite well, aided greatly by the orchestra that includes banjo (of course), guitar, mandolin, and fiddle.  While avid musical theatre ears might harken to shows like Smoke on the Mountain, the instrumentation doesn’t seem out of place for a casual theatre-goer who has a Pandora playlist that includes Mumford & Sons.  Efforts to resist toe-tapping are worthless.

Putting the orchestra in the frame of a house, director Walter Bobbie involves the musicians in a charming way without being too gimmicky.  As scenes shift, the actors wheel that shack around the stage like Dorothy’s house.  The audience never questions the band’s onstage presence; they are totally at home in the thick of the action.  On the subject of scenery and staging, Bobbie employs the kind of devices that leave the majority of the work to the imagination.  With this kind of Our Town-esque responsibility, the director charges the actors to transform chairs and crates into a train in one moment and a star-lit glen in another.  The sensibility is a bit more Peter and the Starcatcher than Our Town, but it is of the same lineage.  In Bright Star, the production value always bows in deference to the story, which is the right approach in this instance.

As stated before, the possibility that Mr. Martin and Ms. Brickell might tailor this piece further following the San Diego run is an exciting prospect.  The creators might consider rounding out Act II with a few additional numbers or judiciously-placed reprises.  For example, Miss Murphy’s employees, Daryl Ames and Lucy Grant—played hilariously by Jeff Hiller and Kate Loprest—could stand to have a number in addition to their part in the lackluster expositional number “My Wonderful Career.”  Dora—the slightly daffy sister played by Libby Winters—needs more material to connect the events from Act I to her raucous Act II romp, “Another Round.”  Lastly, because Act I ends in a kind of lean-forward-in-your-seat, eyes-wide-open manner, Act II opens with the reassuring “Sun’s Gonna Shine” to release the collective tension.  But the song speaks with so much hope that it practically begs for a reprise at the end of Act II.  Martin and Brickell use a reprise of “I Had a Vision” instead—which is effective and moving—but the moment could benefit from some musical quoting of “Sun’s Gonna Shine.”  No doubt, the creators feel they have a complete and streamlined story, and again, in this instance, snappy storytelling is probably the best choice.  But the audience—happily on board for the story—would probably permit a few detours.

The Old Globe should be commended for this collaboration with Ms. Brickell and Mr. Martin as well as with director Walter Bobbie, choreographer Josh Rhodes, music director Rob Berman, and the team of designers.  They have woven a story that feels good and that hopefully will parade around for awhile before it goes in the cedar chest.

Carmen Cusack as Alice Murphy and Wayne Alan Wilcox as Jimmy Ray Dobbs with the cast of the world premiere of Bright Star, a new American musical with music by Steve Martin and Edie Brickell, lyrics by Brickell, book by Martin, based on an original story by Martin and Brickell, and directed by Tony Award winner Walter Bobbie, Sept. 14 - Nov. 2, 2014 at The Old Globe. Photo by Joan Marcus.

Carmen Cusack as Alice Murphy and Wayne Alan Wilcox as Jimmy Ray Dobbs with the cast of the world premiere of Bright Star, a new American musical with music by Steve Martin and Edie Brickell, lyrics by Brickell, book by Martin, based on an original story by Martin and Brickell, and directed by Tony Award winner Walter Bobbie, Sept. 14 – Nov. 2, 2014 at The Old Globe. Photo by Joan Marcus.

Edited:  March 24, 2016

The first rule about Manifesto Fight Club…

Don’t talk about Manifesto Fight Club

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Yes, this really was the heading to my notes today from Research & Bibliography.  As an exercise in passionate thinking, our writing professor–DJ–fashioned a study of famous manifestos for us to read last week, and this week we were to return with a manifesto of our own in hand.  At first glance, it seemed like the assignment was really an invitation and railpass for the crazy train, but I would say–without exception–people were fired up to present their manifestos today for the class.  My topic was one of intense passion for me:  fonts.  What follows is a tirade on Comic Sans.

As we learned in our study, manifestos have a certain flair for formatting.  Since WordPress can’t replicate that easily, feel free to view the original document here.  Below is a little taste.

Because fonts matter. Fonts are the well from which you dip the written word.

Give me fonts drawn from a spring-fed pool ladled with a hollowed gourd;

Give me fonts brewed with coffee and served with cream in a ceramic mug;

Give me fonts distilled like smoky scotch poured in a cut-glass lowball.

These fonts enrich me.

Comics Sans is acid rain. Comic Sans is Sweet ‘n’ Low. Comics Sans is an appletini.

Snacks--and whose responsibility it is to bring them--occupies a full page in the syllabus for THEA 600.  The first week, Shane started the trend with bringing juice boxes.  I dutifully carried out the following with Jumex.  Liv, thanks for the Minute Maid this week.

Snacks–and whose responsibility it is to bring them–occupies a full page in the syllabus for THEA 600. The first week, Shane started the trend of bringing juice boxes to accompany the munchies. I dutifully carried out the following with Jumex. Liv, thanks for the Minute Maid this week.

Can the Music of Broadway Reclaim the Top 40?

This week, the MFAs launch their research projects.  Care to weigh in on my proposal?  Know any resources? Comment below.  

The music of Broadway has always been a genre in dialogue with the popular music of the time.  In the early part of the twentieth century, theatre-goers could expect to hear the music they found in theatres broadcast on that new device—radio—and conversely, they thrilled to hear their favorite radio and parlor hits sung live onstage.  In a not-so-distant era of American popular music, the music of Broadway was popular music.

At some point, however, the dialogue that existed between popular music and Broadway music either fizzled or turned one-sided.  Perhaps both genres amiably departed in their natural evolution or perhaps they split sharply.  At various junctures in musical theatre history, Broadway looked to popular music, but popular music seemed to give little regard to Broadway.  Looking to examples such as Hair, A Chorus Line, Rent, and In the Heights, Broadway certainly responded to popular music, as these shows all evoked the musical style particular to the period in which they were created, namely elements of rock ‘n’ roll, disco, pop rock, and hip-hop.  Whether popular music responded to any of the Broadway shows that so clearly sit rooted in popular music becomes harder to identify.

One data-driven indicator of the relationship between Broadway and popular music lies in a Broadway song’s inclusion in the “Top Forty” charts.  The Top Forty serves as the standard measure for song popularity in the United States, and it stands to reason that any Broadway song that made the charts successfully “crossed over” the genre divide.  Though the Top Forty only goes back to 1951, this research will also seek a measureable record of song popularity prior to that date.  This data can then be used to examine the following questions:

  • Did Broadway music slip gradually from the top forty charts or was it a swift fall?
  • Does the data point to any corresponding social or societal shifts such as new technology or world events?
  • Does the data point to any corresponding events in musical theatre history?
  • Can any correlation be drawn to a shift in song form or other musical factors?
  • Do individual performers have more or less success in bringing Broadway music to the pop charts (e.g.-Barbra Streisand)?

In conclusion, this research will aim to describe the relationship between Broadway music and popular music over the past one hundred years and identify certain conditions that might make a Broadway song more or less likely to cross over to the pop charts.  From there, it might be possible to make suppositions about the future relationship of these two genres.  Put another way, can the fluid dialogue that once existed between Broadway and popular music ever be restored?

 

It's hard not to think of "Let It Go".  What does the Frozen hit have that modern show tunes lack? Photo courtesy of: Jacob Brent

It’s hard not to think of “Let It Go”. What does the Frozen hit have that modern show tunes lack?
Photo courtesy of: Jacob Brent

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