For one reason or another, and most particularly in England, around 1990 theatres seem to have felt a need to reclaim John Gay's "The Beggar's Opera" (1730) from the Brecht/Weill adaptation "Die Dreigroschen Oper" (1928) as translated by Marc Blitzstein in the early 1950's. Jeremy Samsversion of Brecht's lyrics were used first by the Young Vic in1992, and then in 1994-- along with Robert David MacDonald's dialog-- for a production at the Donmar Warehouse venue in London. In the Boston area, Sams' verses were heard several seasons ago for a production at the A.R.T. using a book prepared by Michael Feingold. Currently, the New Repertory Theatre in Newton MA is staging a slightly updated version and highly effective version of the Donmar Warehouse production, featuring some of the Boston area's major music theatre talents. Director Rick Lombardo brought back two top-drawer leads and two first-rate principals from the Rep's smash "Sweeney Todd" last spring, plus well-trained voices from troupes as diverse as the Publick Theatre, Speakeasy, and the Lyric Stage, not to mention a crop of Brandeis M.F.A. candidates and grads. The result is absorbing, with the entire cast giving engrossing performances by any standard. The production was much anticipated, is justifiably appreciated, but the effort is not without its questionable side.
Adaptor MacDonald sets the scene not in early Victorian England as imagined by Weimar cabaret artists but in London sometime in the near future just before the coronation of King William V. The locale is a boarded-up nightclub/ theatre taken over by a scruffy bunch of squatters who seem to be presenting their version of "The Threepenny Opera" mainly for their own amusement. Police helicopters pass overhead interrupting the show, their electricity is unreliable, and the scruffy cast is not always suited to the parts they assume. There may be more backstory, but the audience isn't let in on it. Indeed, just whether or not there is an audience is one of the problems with the piece, though performing in an empty theatre might certainly be alienating.
But perhaps the cast is supposed to be out-of-work theatre artists, who may have been doing "Threepenny Opera" before the place closed. Peter Colao's brilliantly tacky set includes a decaying marquee with that title next to a barricaded door. Various characterizations support such a conclusion. The Peachum's, Paul D. Farwell and Nancy E. Carroll seem like a down-at-the-heels music hall team, even to expecting their lame jokes to be punctuated by the drummer. Carroll, who had the female lead in "Sweeney Todd" at the New Rep last spring, plays Mrs. P with a chilling alcoholic edge, while Farwell, who was the villainous judge in "Sweeney" turns the King of the Beggars into a wonderfully swarmy and annoying comedian. Todd Alan Johnson, with a whiteface burglar's mask, a slight echo of his "Sweeney" pallor, is more evil than romantic in his pop-singer leather wardrobe, and really nails his two numbers just before the faux-operatic Third Finale. His opposite, Pirate Jenny, played by Leigh Barrett, whose Beggar Woman last spring was only one of her recent successes, is the hidden force behind the production, perhaps the owner of the establishment. Jenny Diver starts the evening off with the Moritat, rather eccentrically renamed, "The Flick Knife Song." There is no BalladSinger. While Sams' lyrics are harsher than Blitzstein's, they are somewhat harder to sing clearly, less poetic, and often less apt.
Barrett gets the opening number, and does stellar work during her "Tango" with Macheath as well as in both the "Inadequacy Song" with Peachum and the "Socrates Song" with the Police Chief. "Socrates Song", you ask? In another hapless effort to be different, Solomon has been replaced in his famous song. But the music theater focus of the show is Polly Peachum, sung by Susan Molloy, who was seen last spring in "Side Show" at the Lyric. Playing a blond with a touch of Marilyn who is a microphone-loving bandsinger, Molloy gets good mileage out of "Pirate Jenny" in its incongruous setting at the wedding, and better theatrically thereafter in her next two songs. The "Jealousy Duet" with Stacey Cervellino as Lucy Brown wraps up Molloy's role nicely. Incidentally, as with the original, "The Cannon Song" featuring MacHeath and Tiger Brown-- played in a slick suit by Publick Theatre veteran Steven Barkhimer-- is the number which gets things moving in the first half. The spectacle of public enemy #1 and his old army buddy, the Chief of Police leading a kick line of ragged hoodlums brings down the house. It's the first time the audience has been allowed to applaud. The second half of the show belongs to MacHeath. Johnson's Macheath emerges during the "Tango", begins to take over with the "Ballad of the Easy Life" (no cute retitle) and holds center stage through to his Speech at the Grave, with its refrain "I'll pardon you, you pardon me." It should be noted that this production, varying from Donmar, breaks for intermission during an apparent power failure after "Polly's Song", not after the "Tango".
"Threepenny..." has been reworked almost from its inception. Music director Todd C. Gordon has the same number of musicians-- who handle the score with panache-- as the German jazz ensemble which played for the original production in Berlin. By the time of the original production's big international tour Weill had reorchestrated for 23 musicians--probably the score heard in G.W.Pabst's film. Brecht quit that film effort and doesn't get screenwriting credit . But the film is where Lotte Lenya--Kurt Weill's wife--as Jenny Diver took over the Pirate song and made it her signature. Houpla! During seven years off-Broadway starting in 1954, Polly instead got one of Weill's several tango ballads to sing at the wedding. The major problem with this 1994 reinvention is that it only tentatively engages a current American audience, in spite of the odd wisecrack about "weapons of mass deception" and "colorful alerts." The atmosphere simply isn't very Brechtian. Whoever sings the Moritat, omitting the character of the Ballad Singer is a mistake-- particularly if the illusion of catch-as-catch-can performance is intended. What the show needs is a ringmaster and an announcer: having various members of the cast give the scene descriptions doesn't make it. In addition, an onstage stage manager, a role which Barrett sometimes plays during the evening would clarify things. Finally, the new premise, which is in the grand tradition of dystopian British science fiction such as Burgess' "Clockwork Orange", needs to be clearer. The audience should probably be recognized and brought into this alternative reality. A simple statement--in place of the usual exhortation about cell phones and flash photography--that "this is an illegal performance due to the government's ban on public performances during the coronation. The management takes no responsibility for any arrests. The cast would appreciate a share of any food you've brought with you" would suffice. Some sort of warning about leaving the building during the intermission might be appropriate at that time. And the final lighting effect of a police raid should affect everyone, including the audience. A couple of tattered protest signs tossed in one corner of the set would also be a nice touch.
Onstage, this engrossing production and its intriguing premise would both be helped by more visible relationships between the cast members. The group seems too thrown together to be undertaking such a complex exercise, no matter how well they succeed at it. In any case, reservations aside, this is a memorable production, full of first-rate performances and splendidly mounted in all its shabby glory. Frances Nelson McSherry's costumes are an interesting mix of the contemporary and period music hall, though some touch of futurism would be nice. John Ambrosone's lighting is appropriately ramshackle, with two onstage beam-projectors as followspots for the singers at an old-fashioned P.A.-style microphone. Barkhimer at the Mounted Messenger trimmed with strings of flashing holiday lights is a perfect metaphor. The conceit of placing the performance in the future almost works. Director Rick Lombardo deserves credit for trying to make that idea work as written, but in all honesty, the show just doesn't go far enough, and never comes quite together in spite of the Schlusschoral. Still, any local music theatre fan who misses it will be sorry.