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Wednesday, May 08, 2002

By Christopher Rawson, Post-Gazette Drama Critic

We could say about high school musicals what we say about kindergarten, that they teach many of the important lessons of life. Chief among them is teamwork. That's what a high school musical is at its best, a grand cooperative play day uniting students, teachers, staff, parents and community members in a shared pleasure.

	Hurly-burly in the studios of radio station WOV, Christmastime 1942. From left: David Alexander Flores is Lou Cohn; Patti Kittiko is Ginger Brooks; Stephen Kindle plays Pieface Minelli, and Tara Fertelmes is Connie Miller in a scene from "The 1940's Radio Hour." (Gabor Degre, Post-Gazette) A special photo gallery from the shows reviewed in this story.

You see the result on stage but also in the testimonial-laden programs, bursting with love, aching with pride. You can even see it in the intermission bake sales, although I have to wonder: Where are the massive bake sales of yore? Are we all on diets?

That's the only thing that's shrinking. This year the Post-Gazette listed more than 80 high school musicals in Western Pennsylvania, and that wasn't all of them. And after 12 years of reviewing a handful each spring, I can testify they are growing in ambition and achievement.

That improvement certainly has something to do with the showcase provided by the Gene Kelly Awards (Allegheny County; gala set for June 1), Mancini Awards (Beaver, Butler and Lawrence counties; May 22) and Westmoreland Night of the Stars (last week).

This year I headed north, south, east and west, visiting high schools I'd never been to before. I marveled, as always, at the invention with which directors open shows up to the big casts essential to sharing the joy. As always, too, I regretted the difficulties with sound amplification: You'd think any high school student body would own more than enough equipment to do the job, but wireless mikes are apparently tricky, expensive things.

And I discovered how even frivolities such as musical comedies can speak to our times. In "Godspell," Jesus says at the point of his crucifixion, "Put down the sword, for he who lives by the sword dies by the sword." Post 9/11, could we live up to that? Or take "The 1940s Radio Hour," a sweet revue set during another war. According to Brentwood High School director Kenneth Solomon Jr., it shows civilians getting on with their lives, doing "all the things that make life worth living." Among those things, staging high school musicals ranks pretty high.

Cast with class: Brentwood, "The 1940s Radio Hour"

Musicals are also plays. Few high school musicals I've seen have made that as clear as "The 1940s Radio Hour" staged by Brentwood High School, where the whole cast acted with such focus and commitment that the loose story upstaged its great songs.

That's an achievement, because on its own, Walton Jones' revue has little plot. Set up as a New York City radio show broadcasting at home to the troops abroad at Christmas, 1942, it starts with the empty, lovingly detailed WOV studio. Gradually staff, performers and musicians gather, trailing wisps of their daily lives, developing relationships, slowly preparing for the show.

That's the 40-minute Act 1. When we come back from intermission, we become the studio audience for the broadcast of the Mutual Manhattan Variety Cavalcade. Songs, ads, patter and comic bits are interwoven with the many small plot lines established earlier -- who will pinch-hit for the missing performer, who will succeed the Sinatra-like heartthrob, who will pair off for the post-show party, etc.

The songs are period classics: "Ain't She Sweet," "Love Is Here to Stay," "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," "That Old Black Magic," "I'll Be Seeing You." So are the ads for Pepsi Cola, Chiquita Banana, Sal Hepatica and Nash. Christmas schmaltz and patriotic wishes for the boys overseas are laid on thick.

I know it's not much of a play from having seen several previous productions, including the professional version at the Pittsburgh Playhouse in 1984. But director Solomon and his cast of four dozen didn't let that faze them. Instead they treated the sketchy story as though it were Chekhov, building characters, interactions and texture. Much of Act 1 was their own invention. And everyone (including the 20-some members of the orchestra who are also on stage) was in character the whole time.

To a fan of good acting, it was remarkable, and it transformed a string of great songs into a vibrant genre painting of two hours in the lives of these performers and crew. Unfortunately, the singing voices were generally weak, but the abilities of the student orchestra and the familiarity of the dozen and a half classic tunes made many songs work; some performers sold their songs on acting alone.

The texture of stage life was so full that I don't know if a broken telephone was scripted or the cause of inspired improvisation. The producer's secretary (Laura Winker), at work in an office at one side, was in perfect deadpan character throughout. Emelie Abmayr's costumes and the hair created by four moms provided period conviction. After intermission, tux-clad ushers appeared to hand out the Cavalcade program, complete with bios on the performers (e.g., the characters played by the Brentwood students). Even the bobby soxers who mobbed loveboat Johnny Cantone (obviously hired to do just that) had intensity and comic fullness.

My favorites among many included Wally (Branden Rahimzadeh), a delivery guy from a nearby diner just dying to break into show biz. Rahimzadeh did more funny falls than Chevy Chase, each one a surprise. Cantone (James Corcoran), Connie Miller (Tara Fertelmes) and Ginger Brooks (Patti Kittiko) showed a fine sense of style. Caleb Hawk caught all the angles of the ingenuous, energetic Neal Tilden -- comic, crooner, busybody, cross-dresser. David Alexander Flores' Lou Cohn showed mature character, and Michael Henninger's Clifton Feddington, the producer/announcer, added fastidious frenzy.

The most remarkable single talent was Robert Kircher as Biff Baker, the star trumpet player heading off to war. Along with being a leading man right out of central casting, Kircher soloed with a "Star Spangled Banner"/"Taps" medley that made my hair stand up. Other orchestra standouts: Stephen Kindle's Pieface Minelli, jokester; Matt Kornick's sax solo on "Someone to Warch Over Me"; and Andrew Maksymowych's trombone work on "I'll Never Smile Again."

Shannon Gilg choreographed bits of period dancing. Throughout, the students showed themselves good mimics with the assurance to flaunt their charms with conviction.

The Robert Altman-like feeling of ensemble reality and environmental truthfulness was increased by the sound, often unamplified, obscuring some overlapping banter. This was OK, but malfunctioning mikes on some songs contributed to the vocal weakness.

No matter: Every character was a person. As a result, everyone looked good. Few of these performers can have been this good before. A high school musical can be a peak experience.

'Honk!' if you take risks; Greensburg Central Catholic school musical does

Like any other theater, it's risky for a high school to tackle an unfamiliar show. With "South Pacific" or "The Music Man," the school knows what it's getting; so do audiences and students -- some, at least.

It's even riskier when the show is as unknown as "Honk!," a recent British musical by George Stiles and Anthony Drewe. Producer/director Joette Salandro really didn't know what she was getting into. She'd fallen in love with the cast recording, but she'd never seen the show (its only previous Pittsburgh appearance was in December at Trafford's Theatre Factory), and there was resistance among students when it was announced.

Familiarity isn't just a sort of shortcut -- it sets up possibilities. How do you proceed where there's no established tradition? This was the challenge met creatively by Salandro and musical director Eric Barchiesi, choreographer Renata Marino and designers Maureen Wright (set), Jen James (lights) and whoever conceived the colorful costumes and props.

"Honk!" is the story of the Ugly Duckling, told with witty elaboration and imaginative staging. Everyone is a well-defined character, from the well-meaning but slack father, Drake, to the sleazy comic villain, the Cat. Most of the characters are fowl -- it is "a poultry tale," set around a duck pond. Who knew there were so many common expressions with poultry angles? -- "the local watering hole," "making waves," "you dumb cluck" and such.

Waiting for her brood to hatch, mother Ida notices one of the seven eggs is bigger as she sings "The Joys of Motherhood." In "Look at Him," we get a huge panorama of the varied fowl world, while they get a look at Ugly, a tall, gangly boy not at all like his six cute sisters. But the Cat is immediately attracted to such an ample prospective meal.

In escaping, Ugly gets lost, and his yearlong travels begin. He is saved by a squadron of geese preparing for long flight in the face of enemy artillery ("Honk!" is definitely anti-hunting.) We track Ugly via a TV reporter (a jay, of course). He meets a swan family, especially young Penny, without yet realizing his destiny. There are other adventures.

In staging, Salandro and Marino showed their invention. Ugly's six sisters danced upside down in their shells. There was an underwater ballet. A great comic routine for a vaudevillian Frog ("I've got a human in my throat") turned into "Warts and All," a Busby Berkley barnyard ballet using umbrellas, with girls tap-dancing with cat o' nine tail canes and a rudimentary kick-line for the guys. Winter was realized with huge white umbrellas and drifting snow.

The anchor of the show was Beth Baker's Ida, with her good voice, warm presence and gentle wit ("I sometimes think I mated with a decoy"). Trey Whipkey's Ugly had only a small voice, but a sweetly awkward presence. Carmen Marotta lacked Drake's raffish quality but had easy charm.

The script features a roster of amusing English eccentrics straight out of Masterpiece Theatre. There was little attempt to capture this, but you caught a taste of it in hoity-toity Queenie and Lowbutt, a cat and a chicken. Into this genteel Boston marriage pops a common tomcat, with funny and scandalous goings-on (safely over the head of young audiences).

Need I say the show has a happy ending, affirming the joys of diversity?

And it was a happy ending in Greensburg, too, making good use of the Palace Theatre, a definite advantage over even the best high school auditorium. Whatever its expectations, I hope the audience realized what an artistic accomplishment it was for Salandro and company. Her mentor, the Rev. Thomas Devereux, founder of St. Vincent Theatre at St. Vincent College, should be proud.

Pride, work, talent and fun: Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, "Godspell"

What a perfect marriage of place and musical.

OLSH is high on a hill in Coraopolis, but the intimate, elderly auditorium in which "Godspell" was performed is down some steps, with a low ceiling that gives it a cata-comb feeling like the meeting places of the early church.

That's an appropriate historic parallel to this modern musical parable, a singing "gospel" -- a "life and teachings" of Jesus, here represented as the charismatic leader of a youthful group of holy revelers.

"Godspell" is unusual among musicals in specifying that the characters have the same names as the performers. This is why it can be a dicey choice for public, nonsectarian high schools, since Susie, say, will have to play a character named Susie who voices specifically Christian doctrine. That could make a student uncomfortable who isn't easily able to distinguish herself from a character bearing her own name.

But in a Catholic high school, that issue doesn't arise, so the celebratory quality of "Godspell" is the freer to flower.

The doctrine of "Godspell" is rarely contentious. Any version of Jesus' life and teachings is an implicit critique on other versions, and the Gospels in the New Testament do differ, at least in emphasis. But creators John-Michael Tebelak and Stephen Schwartz generally dissolve potential contention in cheer and good will. The parables are both subject and mode: In explicating Jesus' teachings as improvisatory playlets, "Godspell" argues their simplicity, primacy and truth. The medium is the message.

At OLSH, the "Tower of Babble" which Jesus comes to clarify was indicated with projections of modern cultural icons and such names as Nietzsche, Aquinas, DaVinci, Buckminster Fuller, Sartre and Socrates. Then instant conversion: In "Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord," John the Baptist invokes Jesus, who obligingly appears in a Superman shirt. In "Save the People," he greets his disciples and they dress themselves as clowns, playfellows or holy fools, whichever you will.

Director Dolores Manuel and cast invented many sprightly ways to act out the parables. That of the Good Samaritan became a Wizard of Oz sequence. Contemporary references proliferated: Speedy Delivery, KFC, Muppets. The whole prodigal son sequence was framed as if sponsored by Blockbuster Videos, incorporating "Animal House," Chris Farley, "The Godfather," "Lord of the Dance," "Rain Man" and Norman Bates.

"Day by Day" was a big production number, with the cast and chorus flowing down the aisles, leading audience clapping. There was plenty of enthusiasm and energy. The audience said the Beatitudes. White gloves danced to black light.

Timothy Rosser was a tall, sweet Jesus. Nick Urick played both Judas and John the Baptist, the essential bookends of Jesus' public ministry. Ashley Bielewicz did a comic torch song version of "Turn Back O Man" like a teen-age Sophie Tucker. Heather Taylor added some nice choreography for the women.

Where "Godspell" turns serious, in Jesus' big song of condemnation, the words were sometimes overwhelmed by the orchestra. The show asks tough questions. With the crucifixion itself, "Godspell" becomes a passion play, capable of emotions deeper than playfulness and joy.

From his ordeal, Tim/Jesus emerged reborn in a white shirt. On the large projection screen, the cast also emerged clad in white shirts -- a sweetly theatrical ending, mirrored in the program, where the actors appear dressed just that way.

SPRINGDALE: "Peter Pan"

Yes, they flew.

That's the heart of it. Musical comedies generally journey into make-believe, where villains are more funny than fearsome and music and dance swirl toward happy endings. But in "Peter Pan," this escape from the conventional, waking world goes one step beyond song and dance into the delirious thrill of flight -- specifically, Flying by Foy.

And for the average willing teen-ager who hasn't taken years of dance classes, flying comes more easily than dance routines. It pays off for the audience, too, vicariously cutting us loose from dull reality to soar toward Neverland.

That this escapist story is so appealing is just as well, because there's a whole subtext of darker meanings. Tinkerbell and Wendy both want to be something other than Peter's mother, but they aren't sure what that is. Mermaid Lagoon is a charged sexual fantasy. And just what is the refusal to grow up all about? But the play just glances at all this, leaving the curious to puzzle out its psychosexual background.

Given the adventure side of the story, it's fitting that the excellence of Springdale's production was less in its leads or their voices than in its colorful sets, energetic supporting ensemble and, especially, the rough fun of the Lost Boys.

After the opening scene, with its childish Father and comic dog, Nana, the bedroom walls were moved very efficiently by an agile crew to set Peter, Wendy, John and Michael sailing off against a velvety star-spangled background. There was a quick shift to Neverland, featuring a colorful hill, a handsome painting of Hook's ship, the ship itself and Peter's cozy underground home. Only the lagoon disappointed, with no sense of what was water and what wasn't.

Although the script limits the Lost Boys to six, director William Mitas created a crew of some two dozen Pirates and a smaller corps of 15 Indians. But it was hard to tell them apart in battle scenes, since the colors of their costumes were so similar. Still, Mitas frequently showed a good pictorial eye, as in the deployment of the Indians above the secret home.

Choreographer Gayln Elizabeth Mitas gave the 15 Indians a busy war dance and the Lost Boys, a clever number building Wendy's house. For the Pirates, she arranged funny choreography for Hook's tango and tarantella. The choreography for an ensemble of fabulous beasts and normal forest animals felt pretty haphazard, though. What's their function in the story?

The swaggering roughhousing among the Lost Boys was abetted by their jumble of cockney-like accents, as in the infectious "I Won't Grow Up." The standouts were the gymnastic, funny Slightly (Nick Oleson) and the big baby, Tootles (Phill Harrity). As in any "Peter Pan," the animals were a great hit -- the comic/lugubrious Nana (Aubrey Strauss), as well as the Hook-hunting croc (Jessie Tymoczko).

The actors playing people attempted veddy English accents, some of them pretty good. Courtney Dugan was a feisty Pan, never comfortable in domestic games with Wendy but galvanized by action. Andrew Lagattuta combined a comic, whiny Father with a forceful Hook, though the latter hurried at times, diluting his effect.

Technically, the show suffered from poor sound amplification. But the cast of 65 exuded lots of energy. Springdale benefits from a nicely sloped auditorium, allowing good sight lines. In the lobby, you could buy balloons, flowers, photos and great T-shirts boasting original artwork.

Springdale knows how to make an occasion out of its musical. It even knew how to adjust the musical to its own students: "These are our seniors," read one page in the program. "They did grow up! Now, spread your wings and fly!"