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Two Views on The Dead Last night, Greg and I saw James Joyce's The Dead at the Arden Theatre in Philly. I've decided to review this musical twice - once from the viewpoint of someone who doesn't know the story well (that is, purely as musical theatre) and once from the viewpoint of someone that does (that is, as an adaptation of a classic short story). First, the easier (read: shorter) review: the work as musical theatre. I saw the original Broadway production of The Dead in February of 2000, when I first reviewed it here in this journal. (You should probably go read that entry first; I plan to refer back to it.) I loved that production. At the time, it had been ten years since I read the Joyce story and my memory was hazy. This allowed me to view the production simply as theatre, and I loved it. Looking back, that love had everything to do with the quality of the production, the talent of the actors, and the quite glorious Irish-ness of it all. As musical theatre, it worked quite well. Terrence Nolan is one of Philadelphia's finest directors. I have seen and enjoyed many things he's directed - Hedda Gabler and The Baker's Wife to name only two. His staging for The Dead is excellent and for the most part his direction is very fine; my major quibble is with his direction of Greg Wood in the title character of Gabriel Conroy. Like Nolan, Wood is a staple of Philadelphia theatre. I loved him as Bobby in Company in particular. His Gabriel, though, was just too sentimental. Gabriel is closed off; Gabriel is stoic; Gabriel is arrogant because he has no self-confidence. Wood's Gabriel smiles too much, laughs often, and never quite makes it to the moment of recognition that's so important to the end of the play. Nolan's staging, as I said, is very fine. This production works on most levels and the casting is almost uniformly excellent - two standouts are the woman playing Molly Ivors and the man playing Freddy Malins. The woman playing Gretta, however, is quite harsh and her voice is much too "musical theatre diva" to play the grownup country girl remembering Michael Fury. All in all, though, a pretty solid production of a piece that's really more play-with-music than musical (all songs but three are integrated into the party). Now the other review. As an adaptation of The Dead, the classic James Joyce story, this play/musical/whatever doesn't work at all. The writers just missed the point. The incredible thing about this story is that Gabriel comes to this amazing moment of recognition at the end, which is brought about by his encounters with three women: Lily, the servant girl; Molly Ivors; and his wife, Gretta. The moment with Lily, in the play? Totally glossed over. Makes an attempt to have the harshness and the awkwardness that appear in the story but it doesn't work. The moment with Molly is better but it comes far, far too early and it doesn't have the same impact because we don't have very much of Gabriel's internal thinking. Because of this, we cannot see just how arrogant he is and just how much she embarrasses and angers him. The moment with Gretta, if you'll pardon my French, is all fucked up. In the story, Gretta listens to one of the partygoers sing a song and she is reminded of Michael Fury, a young man who loved her when he was seventeen and died shortly thereafter. While she is thinking of Michael, Gabriel is having all of these incredibly loving thoughts about her but keeping them all to himself. This is the tragedy of Gabriel and his marriage; rather than open up to Gretta and share this "heart-revealing intimacy" (thank you, W.B. Yeats) with her, he keeps it all to himself (again: arrogance). He just assumes she is thinking the same things, but then finds out she is not. She breaks down in their hotel room and tells him the story of Michael, and he is moved with compassion for her and cries - he cries "generous tears." This is his big breakthrough, the first time Gabriel has thought of anyone but himself. It doesn't exist in the musical. Instead, Gretta is reminded of Michael by a young party attendee (also conveniently named Michael) and she sings a song (about Michael Fury). Later at the hotel, she sings the story of Michael to Gabriel, and then he sings a song about the snow being general all over Ireland. (Don't even get me started on that.) By doing it this way, you miss some of Joyce's most exquisite language: One by one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. The story is a complex portrait of a man who is completely disconnected from his wife and his country. He is writing a column for a British newspaper and taking his vacations abroad; he tells Molly that he doesn't like his country and she calls him a traitor. The story is an intricately woven evening during which we discover just how arrogant Gabriel is as he makes every situation all about him. It makes the end very satisfying; Gabriel's moment of recognition comes late but it does come and we leave the story hopeful that things may be different for him afterwards. This story was clearly not meant to be adapted visually. Most of the important moments are internal; the story is Gabriel's. While the musical is narrated by Gabriel, it's not the same. It's too sentimental, too lighthearted. Aunt Julia dies onstage, for God's sake. I think, after seeing it a second time, that I infinitely prefer the version that lived in my head while I was reading it aloud in Dr. V's class. |