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Past Reviews Off Broadway Reviews |
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This is the general atmosphere of the musical adaptation of A Christmas Memory that just opened at the DR2 Theatre under the auspices of the Irish Repertory Theatre. Duane Poole (book), Larry Grossman (music), and Carol Hall (lyrics) have dug into Truman Capote's 1956 short story in an apparent attempt to craft a different kind of holiday musical: one that trades more on Capote's Southern Americana than the traditional elements (ice, snow, Santa) we've come to expect. But by going too far in some respects and not far enough in others, they've produced a weird hybrid that's neither moving nor especially evocative of the era and locale in which it's ostensibly set. For the most part, that's Alabama 1933, where a nine-year-old named Buddy enjoys a typical yuletide with the much-older cousins he lives with: Seabon, Jennie, and Sook, the last of whom Buddy has formed a particularly close bond with. Sook, the oldest of the trio, flies kites with Buddy, works with him to make the drunken fruitcake she sends to friends, acquaintances, and even complete strangers (Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt are among this year's recipients), and generally treats him like a kind, creative soul rather than an unruly boy who needs to be managed. (It's hardly a secret that Jennie plans to send Buddy off to military school as soon as the New Year hits.) Following the original story, the musical covers little more narrative ground than this, though it also uses an adult Buddy stationed in 1955—dressed up by costume designer David Toser to be the spitting image of the mature Capote, round glasses and all—to reflect back on this unusually significant Christmas. The authors have not skimped on presenting the kind of simple pleasures that gave Capote's memoir its nutmeg-infused aura of home, such as storytelling sessions, family sing-alongs, and tree decorating, and these ensure that a certain friendly spirit is maintained throughout. And James Noone's set, a country home and yard as filtered through 20 years of wispy nostalgia, summons the proper coordinating feel, as do Brian Nason's lights. None of it is ever exactly transporting, however. Poole's book is slow and long-winded, borrowing liberally from Capote without capturing much of his magic. The score is riddled with desperate would-be showstoppers that thrust entertainment in your face like a sloshed uncle trying to push leftover eggnog: a vaudevillian salute to the fruitcakes, a paean to the unexpected life by the family's black housekeeper Anna, and an endless (and annoying) made-up tale for Buddy after he visits a mysterious bootlegger's house. But even the more honest numbers tend to check off boxes ("the mean cousin's not so mean," Sook and Buddy's last day together, and so on) rather than grow organically from the feeling of the moment. It doesn't help that Grossman's music, though handsome and sufficiently warm, is also dull and melancholy, playing too deep in the older Buddy's recollection for you to ever get completely lost in the bygone moments he does. Hall (The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas) skirts the edges of emotion in most of her lyrics, but her wittier style does not mesh seamlessly with what's required here. (One typical lyric: "Paper and cotton and scissors and twine / All that we had to give Christmas a shine." Another: "Heaven is not just a shiny star / Heaven is things just as they are.") Charlotte Moore's direction fits right in: honest but ponderous, when a lighter touch would be much more beneficial. Heavy sells are what you get from the actors, too. Only Virginia Ann Woodruff, as Anna, finding a levity within all the suffused sadness, though a close second comes from Taylor Richardson, the spunky young actress who plays the precocious, tomboyish next-door neighbor, Nelle. Ashley Robinson channels Capote well enough, but projects little personality of his own; while Nancy Hess and Samuel Cohen, as the mean cousins, strain against the tight confines of their thankless roles. Silvano Spagnuolo pushes unbearably hard as the young Buddy, shouting many of his lines, mugging through practically every scene, and displaying little of the good-hearted appeal that should endear the character to Sook or to us. As for Sook, Alice Ripley imbues her with a gentle sauciness that projects the welcoming vibe of a Southern-spun Auntie Mame. But Ripley plays her very young and energetic, which not only hurts Sook's relationship with Buddy but renders her final fate (which is dependent on her agedness) nonsense. And her singing voice, which in its present state alternates haphazardly between earthy belt and untethered mix, sounds utterly wrong for a woman we, like Buddy, are really supposed to love. Like everything else here, Ripley's Sook suggests a sepia-tinged description of someone we might want to know, but without the details needed to make her come to life. Perhaps part of the point of this take on Capote is that the past is never quite the way remembered it, and we're forever filling in the gaps we find with what we've come to learn in the interim. But because there's no real evidence of that, this A Christmas Memory is compelling only for its promise, not for what it actually delivers.
A Christmas Memory
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