Engaging road show imagines pre-Dorothy Oz
by Martin Brady
Let's get this on record: Wicked is great. There are few chinks in its armor, and on many levels it beats other brand-name road shows that have come to Nashville in recent years, among them The Producers, The Lion King and Jersey Boys. The reasons are many—exciting leading ladies, fluid direction (by Joe Mantello), gorgeous emerald-themed costumes (Susan Hilferty), outsized clockwork sets (Eugene Lee), compelling visual tricks and Stephen Schwartz's big, loud score, which actually offers a few memorable melodies.
But Wicked's strongest suit may be its book, and that's something rare to declare about a boldly hyped theatrical spectacle, especially one exploiting the world's strong devotion to L. Frank Baum's Oz stories. Winnie Holzman, creator of TV's excellent My So-Called Life, deserves tons of credit for adapting novelist Gregory Maguire's source material to produce a tantalizing script that speculates on pre-Dorothy life in the merry old land. Moreover, Holzman has employed particularly creative angles on character development, lots of engaging wordplay, a cool take on magic (without the Harry Potter overkill), an animal-rights sensitivity that plays to the contemporary crowd—and not least of all, a potent statement on human bigotry and misunderstanding.
Our heroine is Elphaba, the future Wicked Witch of the West, born green out of illicit circumstances and considered a freak by all. Elphaba—whose name is obviously inspired by L. Frank Baum's—goes to university with her crippled sister, Nessarose (the future Wicked Witch of the East), then meets Galinda (later Glinda), a foxy blonde manipulator with whom she shares a contentious but strangely connective relationship. Elphaba's developing powers of sorcery come to the attention of the Wizard of Oz, who intends them for suspicious uses. Meanwhile, Elphaba becomes embroiled in romantic entanglements involving Nessarose and Glinda. (Scarecrow and Tin Man lovers take note.) Eventually, social and political forces collide, and Elphaba is dubbed "wicked" and deemed an outcast despite her integrity and desire to do right.
Anyone who remembers Margaret Hamilton's classic line—"Who killed my sister?"—in the 1939 film, should be fascinated with how Wicked dares to tie up the heretofore unknown threads of that famous incident. Audiences also get flying monkeys, some mystical green elixir, an excellent explanation for the origin of the ruby slippers, plus a story line that actually progresses through to Dorothy's eventful activities in Oz.
Without strong principals, Wicked wouldn't fly. No problem here. When Marcie Dodd's Elphaba soars above the stage astride her broom singing the Act 1 closer "Defying Gravity," you know you're not in Kansas anymore. That's just one of her 12 musical numbers, and she also gives an affecting, sensitively nuanced acting performance. Helene Yorke as Glinda is her equal. In fact, Yorke may have the toughest task: re-creating a role originated by Kristin Chenoweth, whose distinctive vocals are featured on the Broadway cast album. But Yorke's portrayal is canny (and not overly cutesy), and she delivers her songs with vibrant skill and her own personal stamp. "Popular," with its clever internal rhyme schemes, is her signature piece.
Other standout players include David DeVries as Dr. Dillamond, Marilyn Caskey as Madame Morrible and Don Richard as Elphaba's father. Tom McGowan—Kenny on TV's Frasier—is the Wizard. He doesn't seem a natural pulling off musical comedy, but he handles his two main numbers ("Wonderful" and "A Sentimental Man") competently.
There's a hint of bombast in Wicked, and a few dance numbers that seem only to fill time. But otherwise it's a transportive musical journey worth taking—if you can find a ticket.
Still wickedly funny
Too bad the Wicked cast works on Tuesdays. Otherwise, they could check out Nashville's own long-running musical hit The Doyle and Debbie Show. A recent visit—where the audience included legendary songwriter John Prine—revealed that Bruce Arntson's hilarious spoof of the country music biz remains in spiffy shape. Arntson, as over-the-hill Doyle Mayfield, sports a new red suit, and Jenny Littleton's portrayal of wannabe singing star Debbie is more riotous than it was when the show first opened at Bongo After Hours Theatre in spring 2006. And as sideman Buddy Apple, Matthew Carlton successfully maintains his delightfully deadpan demeanor. The Doyle and Debbie Show is performed every Tuesday night at The Station Inn, the little honky-tonk/bluegrass venue now surrounded by The Gulch's airborne condos and tony nightspots. Show time is 7 p.m.
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