Gone With The Wind (The SOB Review)
Gone With The Wind (The SOB Review) - New London Theatre, London, United Kingdom* (out of ****)
(Steve On Broadway sits down at his desk and contemplates typing his SOB Review for Gone With The Wind, which opened last week in London. He then begins to type.)
Last week, I treated two of my favorite friends, who happen to hail from Atlanta, to the just-opened musical version of Gone With The Wind (costing me approximately $330), which I can only describe as one of the funniest laugh-out loud musicals to come along in ages.
Only thing is those laughs are purely unintentional.
Tomorrow may be another day, but taking in this interminable show will lead you right into it. One must endure more than three and a half long hours to get through the mess created by sociologist and first-time musical creator Margaret Martin's treatment of Margaret Mitchell's epic 1936 novel. Inexplicably, Martin managed to gain permission from Mitchell's estate to transform the source material into a meandering pastiche of so many varied musical styles that you'd be forgiven for thinking you're watching several different intertwining tuners at once.
(Steve On Broadway momentarily ponders some of the silliest songs he has heard and then resumes typing.)
Martin's ill-conceived book and largely inane lyrics seldom rise beyond the wings of a cliché. Most of the worst songs are reserved for the leading characters of Miss Scarlett (Jill Paice was out sick, so I saw the valiant Savannah Stevenson in her place) and her dashing husband Rhett Butler (Darius Danesh, once a runner-up on Britain's version of "American Idol"); Stevenson and Danesh do what they can with the lackluster material, but are eventually done in by it. Surely, these actors must recognize that they've attached themselves to a stinker.
Interestingly enough, the best songs of the bunch by far are the tunes sung by the slaves. Indeed, the most rousing, deeply moving song -- which in most musicals would have been reserved for the 11 o'clock number -- is sung near the beginning of Act II by the spirited Jina Burrows as Prissy. Sadly, I can't tell you the name of the number because the $10 programme doesn't even bother to list the song titles (perhaps because the show was whittled down to less than four hours just days before it opened, they didn't have time to print new programmes).
This and the other soaring anthemic ballads sung by the tuner's fine black actors -- including a splendid NaTasha Yvette Williams (most recently Sofia in Broadway's The Color Purple) as Mammy -- provide the few stirring moments of the evening. But because this is ostensibly a story about a fancifully conceited and self-absorbed white woman named Scarlett O'Hara, the black storylines never have a real chance of going anywhere.
Unfortunately, the rest comes across as a mishmash of high school musicals, bad dinner theatre and a seemingly conscious nod to "Waiting For Guffman." There are all the elements of parody without any shred of satirical irony. With the exceptions noted above, this Gone With The Wind rarely rises to the caliber of what one should reasonably be able to expect from the vaunted, hallowed heights of the prestigious West End. Audiences deserve better.
(Steve On Broadway muses to himself how a director like Trevor Nunn fails to form any semblence of a cohesive show.)
You'd think theatre veteran Trevor Nunn would be able to wade through Martin's musical morass -- after all, he is listed as the show's "adapter," whatever that really means. Instead, he seems to amplify the material's incredulity to an absurd level, never allowing any of the themes or subplots to go anywhere but through the revolving door of a set.
(It was at this moment that Steve On Broadway remembers how John Napier's eternally-rotating set design serves as an accidental metaphor for trying to cram far too much into this already overblown production.)
Yes, John Napier's ever-revolving set that rarely ever really changes no matter how frequently it's given a whirl is perhaps the best gauge for telling when a month or a year -- or years, for that matter -- has passed since it effectively serves as a revolving door for far too many characters we never have a chance to know or care about.
(Steve On Broadway suddenly remembers thinking to himself, "If only someone could make those infernal narrations cease!")
Then there's the narration.
The endless, ultimately irritating narration.
Fact is, if I really wanted to read the book, I would have done so on my plane ride to London (or listened to the book on my iPod). I don't need the constant exposition by characters telling me the obvious. Do I really need a narrator to tell me that Miss Scarlett is about to look at herself in the mirror when I can see that for myself, or worse, having the dying soldiers rolling around on the floor suddenly rising up to tell us they're all dying?
(So Steve On Broadway is thinking, "They're probably wondering if you enjoyed yourself. Go ahead and tell them the truth.")
Did I have fun? Well, yes, but for all the wrong reasons. I found myself laughing when I should have been moved. I couldn't help but think, "So this is what audiences who saw Carrie - The Musical must have thought when they saw that great flopperoo."
On a more serious note, simply put, Martin and Nunn fail to deliver a compelling musical that can stand on its own. Their efforts have added nothing to the art of live theatre except endless exposition.
So my advice is to save your pounds or dollars and time and invest the $11 or so on Margaret Mitchell's Pulitzer Prize-winning book instead.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
Click here for tickets.
Related Stories:
Is London's GWTW Already Went With The Wind? (April 14, 2008)
GWTW Composer: Knowin' Somethin' 'Bout Birthin' Babies (September 27, 2007)
Frankly My Dears... (July 1, 2007)
Gone With The Wind The Musical? (February 22, 2007)
Labels: Gone With The Wind, Jill Paice, London, Margaret Martin, Margaret Mitchell, Musical, The SOB Review, Trevor Nunn
posted by Steve On Broadway (SOB) @ Thursday, May 01, 2008
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