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Loesser is more
Guys and Dolls remains a classic
BY IRIS FANGER

Guys and Dolls
Music and lyrics by Frank Loesser. Book by Jo Swerling and Abe Burrows. Based on a story and characters from Damon Runyon. Directed by Charles Randolph-Wright. Choreography by Ken Roberson. Sets by Norbert Kolb. Lighting by Michael Gilliam. Costumes by Paul Tazewell. Musical direction by Eric Barnes. With Maurice Hines, Alexandra Foucard, Brian Sutherland, Diane Sutherland, Clent Bowers, Lawrence Redmond, Michael W. Howell, Cathy Carey, Tad Ingram, Carlos Lopez, Paul Depasquale, Ryan Blanchard, Liza Shaller, Donna Migliaccio, Curt M. Buckler, and P.J. Terranova. At the Colonial Theatre through April 14.


If ever there was a perfect musical, it was — and remains — Guys and Dolls, by Frank Loesser, who first set the Broadway hustlers of Damon Runyon’s short stories to sing and dance on stage more than 50 years ago. And for those of us who complain that we’re getting stream of revivals instead of sparkling new additions to the American musical-theater repertory, the complaining stops here. Despite the misfiring of many gags at Tuesday night’s preview performance and the distinct aura of razzle-dazzle on the cheap for this production, which originated at DC’s Arena Stage two years ago, the show holds. That’s because director Charles Randolph-Wright chose voices capable of punching out Loesser’s glorious songs.

Loesser was one of the few composers whose way with words was as inspired as his invention of melody. His lyrics speak the lingo of the streets, or at least of the Times Square of the era. From the " Fugue for Tinhorns, " an argument in musical-canon form about which horse " can do " in the eighth race that’s sung by a trio of lowlifes, on through to the delicious mock-medical advice of " Adelaide’s Lament " and the topsy-turvy love songs, there’s not one misprint in the fit of words to music. Loesser both caught and spoofed the conventions of pop music, immortalizing the nightclub routines of the period in the memorable foolishness of " A Bushel and a Peck " and " Take Back Your Mink " and recasting the chauvinistic anthem as " The Oldest Established, " an ode to the longevity of main character Nathan Detroit’s crap game.

Yet except for a bit of shimmying when the performers sing out Loesser’s songs, this production fails to deliver the promise of its beginning, when the curtain goes up and we see headliner Maurice Hines posed center stage in the spotlight, as if to suggest that we’re in for an evening stuffed with dancing. That’s not to be. Hines is a show-business veteran who started out at age five with his brother Gregory; the two were then joined by their father in an act entitled " Hines, Hines and Dad. " Just standing still at the side of the stage or, better yet, sliding his feet above the boards in a strut, hips held high and slightly behind the rest of his body, or dangling his fingers beneath wrists bent in a gesture of disdain or confidence, the man is a walking, talking encyclopædia of the history of the hoofer.

Problem is, choreographer Ken Roberson never lets Hines break out into a full number, and neither does he choreograph anything more than a shadow of the possibilities of the show’s Havana trip or the second-act gamblers’ ballet, " Luck Be a Lady. " Cast as the unrepentant gambler and perennial fiancé to Miss Adelaide, Hines is always on as Hines, but he’s nonetheless a delight. The other principals — the husband-and-wife team of Brian and Diane Sutherland as Gideon Bible–quoting gambler Sky Masterson and missionary Miss Sarah Brown, and the adorable Alexandra Foucard as Miss Adelaide — bring fine, big voices to their roles as well as a daffy sensibility. They even reach behind the cartoon outlines to find something of the humanity of the characters. Clent Bowers, as the rotund Nicely-Nicely in the gospel-like " Sit Down You’re Rockin’ the Boat, " and Tad Ingram, who sweetly delivers advice to Sarah in " More I Cannot Wish You, " help to keep the second act from sagging.

The unimaginative décor — little more than the obligatory lighted signs of Times Square, with a wall floated down for the Mission scenes — is enhanced by Paul Tazewell’s zoot-suit costumes. But director Randolph-Wright seems to have sat this one out, in the hope that the comic timing would kick in on its own. Perhaps he was right not to tamper with Loesser’s achievement, and we can be grateful he didn’t try to update the material. One suspects that drug dealers would be less eloquent in song than Harry the Horse, Benny Southstreet, and Big Jule from Chicago.

 

Issue Date: April 4-11, 2002
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