At the Broadhurst Theatre, the long-awaited revival of "Into the Woods" is a mixed blessing—de-emphasize the mix, put the weight on blessing.
The mix first:
In this famous Sondheim-Lapine view of life lessons as presented in interwoven fairy tales (most culled from the Brothers Grimm, one, about a Baker and his Wife, the invention of the authors), there are a handful of important roles for which the casting has a surprisingly mild impact—there are times when one feels one is watching a well-maintained road tour, or a show that is at least two generations deep into its replacements, rather than a Broadway opening week ensemble. There’s nothing particularly wrong with any of these performances, they just seem to lack—oh, one telling detail or another, depending upon the performer.
Start at the top with Vanessa Williams as the witch. She has what I call the "Christopher Reeve" malady; she is clearly very bright, and has a conspicuous understanding of the role: how it’s supposed to be laid out, how it’s supposed to land, where its key beats are and how to hit them. But because she is a performer without much personal edge, it’s a bit like watching a really great blueprint for a performance, without experiencing the power of the thing fully built. (Chris Reeve often gave one a similar impression—not for lack of edge, but lack of vocal range; his high, thin tenor allowed for limited modulation and frustrated any sense of weight to his more serious performances.) Voice, happily, is not Ms. Williams’ weakness. She sings musically and with a fluid ease—vocal range she has. But the raggedness, the volatility of a witch…well, if not for the make-up, I wonder if we’d buy it at all.
Then there’s Marylouise Burke as Jack’s mother—agreeably dotty but conspicuously concentrating on keeping time as she sings.
And Molly Ephraim as Red Riding Hood—a young girl, more or less hovering around the actual chronological age of the character as Lapine and Sondheim conceive her…and with a young girl’s lack of showbiz polish. One understands completely the conceit behind the choice—the quest for authenticity—but it plays noticeably against the inherent showbiz and sophistication of the material.
Then there are a few others who are perfectly fine, no flaw to be found, and even have their moments, some very nice ones—Stephen DeRosa’s Baker, Kerry O’Malley’s Baker’s Wife, Adam Wylie’s Jack…But where’s the signature flip, or the uniqueness of persona that should be there to burn the performances indelibly in memory? Adequacy, by Broadway standards, can be a very high bar, as it is here…but with an event this meaningful, you yearn for singularity.
All that said—
—and we arrive at the blessing now—
—there’s a certain philosophical consistency to the casting choices, even the ones that could have been better—
—because this "Into the Woods" is a more humanist "Into the Woods" than the one that debuted in 1987. True, the original production was just as concerned with presenting the tales as metaphors for passage, for the pleasures and pain of going through life, making choices and decisions, dealing with consequences, and nothing could be more humanist…but that production was slicker and cooler…this one is warmer. And the warmth—added to a few tweaks, cuts, alterations (including an added number)—makes all the difference.
And it informs the casting. Clearly the decision has been to emphasize the heart over the head, the soul over the surface—and if there are choices that seem less-than-ideal, there are others that soar. John McMartin is a splendid, wryly aware yet eccentric, narrator. Gregg Edelman and Christopher Sieber are comic heaven as the fatuous princes (and deceitful wolves—yes, there are two of them now). And this time out, Cinderella, as assayed by the radiantly beautiful, exquisitely musical Laura Benanti, may well be the beating heart at the center.
Douglas W. Schmidt’s set is a warmer environment for the show too—heavy emphasis on the green of the woods—
—and by now you’ve all heard about the cow. No longer a statue on a wagon, it is now a full-size puppet with a full range of expressions, inhabited and operated by a live actor (Chad Kimball). Even the cow is more human.
Sondheim’s score, intriguingly built upon a five-note sequence (the passing of the beans), has become richer with age—or maybe it’s that age allows one to better appreciate its riches—and in the few places where it allows, John Carrafa has provided not brilliant but aptly bouncy choreography.
In all, this new "Woods" is a little like the life it means to inform…it has its disappointments here and there…but ultimately, you’d much rather have it around than not…