Camelot

Presented by the Tennessee Repertory Theatre

Through Dec. 22 at TPAC’s Polk Theater

Call 255-9600 for ticket information

It’s easy to feel cynical about musicals these days. The form has changed, certainly as compared to the golden era of Rodgers and Hammerstein, Cole Porter, and Irving Berlin. We have changed as well. Our modern age is informed with skepticism, reflected in latter-day musical productions that are sophisticated but also bleak in tone—so much so that it’s hardly necessary to bring our willing suspension of disbelief with us to the theater.

And then there are musicals like Camelot. Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe’s tribute to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table is about 40 years old. It’s a post-golden-era piece, yet it predates the arrival of both Stephen Sondheim’s jaded if intellectually challenging work and the technocratic, sometimes non-book excesses of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Camelot seems to draw from both streams of musical movement, taking the best both have to offer. It is a respectfully tuneful show to be sure, and it’s got a literate book. But while it tells an idyllic tale, there is a surprisingly dark cast to it, certainly enough to satisfy the cynical among us.

Whether you know this show as the Richard Burton/Julie Andrews stage vehicle or as the critically disappointing subsequent film starring Richard Harris and Vanessa Redgrave, it’s always perceived as a legendary slice of royal England. Tennessee Repertory Theatre takes some interesting liberties with the tradition in its new production, and what a delight it is to state that the company has mined a mother lode of new interpretation—one that keeps the spirit of Merlyn’s world intact while letting us see the principal characters in a more primitive milieu.

As far as setting and costumes go, this version is closer to William Wallace than it is to Queen Elizabeth. Kilts and bagpipes are the order of the day; instead of a castle, we get more in the way of ramparts with columns. The knights and ladies are an earthier group too. These changes instill a sound historical backdrop for Lerner’s clear-eyed script and possibly even lend it some needed edginess.

The Rep’s musical directors, Mark Beall and K. Dawn Grapes, have followed through on their side of things as well. The notably spare Celtic arrangements of Loewe’s familiar tunes are in keeping with the show’s overall presentation, yet maintain the composer’s distinctive chord structures. This latter fact is paramount, because Loewe’s marvelous unified score hinges on critical harmonic movement under the melodies.

Camelot is closer to musical drama than it is to musical comedy; hence it requires cast members who can act as well as they sing. Director David Grapes has assembled a multitalented company to bring the vision to reality. There are 19 players in all, and the performances are generally very good. Leading the way is Erin Cottrell as Guenevere. She is an attractive, graceful young lady, possessed of a charming supple voice and first-rate acting skills.

Steve Asciolla does a nice job with the difficult role of Lancelot—it’s hard to like the guy who comes between king and queen, after all—and his rich baritone carries the day in his signature song, “If Ever I Would Leave You.” Christian Whelan has a tougher task with the multileveled role of Arthur. After some tentative moments in his opening tune, “I Wonder What the King Is Doing Tonight,” he settles into his role agreeably, effectively balancing his character’s competing desires for a perfect love and a perfectly governed kingdom.

Not to be outdone are the performers ancillary to the love-triangle plot. Robert Bartley is simply smashing as Mordred, Arthur’s bastard son. He is malevolence personified, all elfin energy and wickedness, and when he leads a chorus of players in “Fie on Goodness,” we wonder why this isn’t a better-known number. Of equal caliber is the performance of Henry Haggard as Merlyn. Sporting special makeup by Jason Nagim, Haggard epitomizes the age of medieval magic, swirling about the proceedings with expected wisdom and prescience. Allison Metcalf makes for a seductive Morgan Le Fey, Mordred’s bewitched aunt who brings incest blatantly to the fore, and Lane Wright is mostly satisfying as the aging, comedic knight Pellinore (though his shtick gets almost as tired as he appears to be). Finally, Jordan Yates is a likable presence as young Arthur, the boy who pulls the sword from the stone and affirms his destiny.

On the technical front, The Rep scores big—as is common these days. Lane Fragomeli’s costumes are terrific and not overdone. Scenic designer Gary M. Hoff provides a spacious and simply attractive playing area. Lighting designer Phillip Franck once again displays his considerable skills, as stage pictures are created in dazzling blues and greens and atmospheric shadows.

The highest tip of the hat, however, goes to David Grapes for coordinating the talent that pulls off this intelligently deconstructed production. He has breathed new life into a musical theater classic that demands, in this retelling anyway, to be revisited.

—Martin Brady

Modern primitive

It ain’t over yet. The battle between the sexes has inspired gazillions of comic rejoinders from time immemorial, as elegantly framed as Aristophanes’ classic play Lysistrata or as overtly misogynistic as rapper Eminem’s lyrics. Some of the same old plaints flared up yet again when Rob Becker brought his Defending the Caveman comedy act to TPAC’s Jackson Hall last week. Becker, though, put a contemporary spin on Mars-meets-Venus. By the end of the evening, he had the audience, young and old, male and female, rolling in the aisles.

Becker didn’t look like much of a caveman at first glance—no leopard skin loincloth or anything that obvious. No, he was a little more genteel than that, clad in wrinkled jeans, scruffy work boots, and his favorite faded T-shirt (picked out of the dirty clothes basket, he said, because it didn’t smell quite as bad some of the others). His posture was a bit hunched, his potbelly stuck out, and his arms dangled long at his sides. He dragged his feet on the floor when he walked. On second thought, maybe he did look like a caveman, albeit one updated to the 21st century.

Becker is a consummate professional who has obviously honed his act over the years. Starting in 1987, the Caveman made his appearance in Becker’s standup comedy act and began to take over the routine. Moving from San Francisco, he made sold-out appearances from Dallas to Detroit, then ran on Broadway for almost two years—the longest solo performance in Broadway history.

The years of practice have paid off. Every streamlined gesture, every nuance of a raised eyebrow, every double take was impeccably timed. Becker conveyed the unfocused stare of a couch potato with great aplomb: At one point, when he recalled his wife Erin interrupting his TV-induced reverie with the query, “Do you like this color or that one?” it took everything he had to snap out of his trance. A shift of the eyeballs into focus, a shake of the head to put his brains in gear, and a twitch of the mouth all had to occur before he could engage his voice box.

Becker pleaded for mutual understanding between men and women, explaining that our caveman DNA has resulted in a division of labor. Guys are the hunters, he claimed, and gals the gatherers. The TV remote is only the modern manifestation of the hunting tendency; point and shoot that little sucker, and any man can vaporize wrestlers, hockey players, or football bruisers with the simple stroke of his finger. The woman, in contrast, can find many ways to satisfy her genetic need for gathering: shopping, nesting, collecting gossipy tidbits.

The hunting-gathering dichotomy, Becker insisted, can be responsible for many a misunderstanding between husband and wife. He added, however, that modern couples can bridge the nonverbal gap with respect and a sense of humor. He demonstrated how he had learned to communicate with his wife via grunts and smiling, Buddha-like nods of agreement. To his credit, he even permitted his wife to arm-wrestle him for control of the remote.

By the time Becker was done with his routine, you could look down the long aisles at TPAC and pick out quite a few couples holding hands, joined by spontaneous laughter. The Caveman turned out to be Cupid in disguise.

—Maureen Needham