There's a story within a story on stage in Man of La Mancha, the Tony Award-winning musical adaptation of Miguel de Cervantes' classic tale of Don Quixote. A story of swashbuckling imagination and adventure is wrapped inside one of grim consequences, making for a captivating audience experience.
In the Celebrity Attractions production at the Civic Center Music Hall, however, the intriguing format of the tale occasionally masks an unfocused emotional impact.
In the Celebrity Attractions production at the Civic Center Music Hall, however, the intriguing format of the tale occasionally masks an unfocused emotional impact.
Opening the Book
There's absolutely no doubt the story is engrossing. Originally written in the early 17th century, Cervantes' novel certainly stood the test of time. Wasserman's musical adaptation became a hit as well, enjoying five successful runs on Broadway. The program tells us Wasserman was "fascinated with Miguel de Cervantes rather than his famous protagonist," and his adaptation weaves the two in wonderful fashion.
On a beautifully dank and mysterious dungeon set with gargantuan stone pillars, actors scurry like rats across the stage, picking at each other as orange light spills from the torches and tunnels. Smoke leaks from various areas on the stage, and a huge staircase perched above signals not only a breath of freedom from this world but also an impending conflict.
The visually stunning set suffers only from lack of use. Audience eyes are drawn upwards, following the construction meant to emphasize the imposing and looming areas above. But throughout the show, the players are largely confined to a platform in the center of the stage or the staircase, making the elevated metallic walkways only for show.
When the cranking sounds of chains ring throughout the auditorium, the dungeon is about to get a new resident and the story begins. Cervantes, having been imprisoned by the Inquisition for foreclosing on a monastery, is thrown into the frightening depths, his servant and worldly possessions in tow.
On a beautifully dank and mysterious dungeon set with gargantuan stone pillars, actors scurry like rats across the stage, picking at each other as orange light spills from the torches and tunnels. Smoke leaks from various areas on the stage, and a huge staircase perched above signals not only a breath of freedom from this world but also an impending conflict.
The visually stunning set suffers only from lack of use. Audience eyes are drawn upwards, following the construction meant to emphasize the imposing and looming areas above. But throughout the show, the players are largely confined to a platform in the center of the stage or the staircase, making the elevated metallic walkways only for show.
When the cranking sounds of chains ring throughout the auditorium, the dungeon is about to get a new resident and the story begins. Cervantes, having been imprisoned by the Inquisition for foreclosing on a monastery, is thrown into the frightening depths, his servant and worldly possessions in tow.
Constructing a Tale
Promotional Poster © 2007 Celebrity Attractions
It isn't long, of course, before Cervantes is surrounded by the riffraff, his manuscript taken from him and very nearly destroyed. Only a desperate plea earns him a trial from the "Governor," the unofficial monarch of the prisoners. To make his case, Cervantes will do what he does best and tell a story.
What results is a delightful method of relaying the two stories that interested Wasserman so intensely. The prisoners become players in Cervantes' tale, and the playing area morphs so seamlessly between story locales with just a shift of set pieces or a lighting transition.
Though in the end it's not quite clear how exactly the tale proves Cervantes deserves reprieve from the dungeon court, it's nevertheless an inventive and interesting bit of story-telling.
What results is a delightful method of relaying the two stories that interested Wasserman so intensely. The prisoners become players in Cervantes' tale, and the playing area morphs so seamlessly between story locales with just a shift of set pieces or a lighting transition.
Though in the end it's not quite clear how exactly the tale proves Cervantes deserves reprieve from the dungeon court, it's nevertheless an inventive and interesting bit of story-telling.
Donning the Armor
So the theatre kit is thrust open, and a couple of makeup dabs later, Cervantes transforms into Alonso Quijana, an aging Spanish gentleman. Well, scratch that. It seems Mr. Quijana has a healthy imagination, if not a clear case of dementia. After all, he believes himself to be Don Quixote de La Mancha, knight-errant on an adventure to right all wrongs in the world.
As the title character, Steve McCoy handles masterfully the transition among multiple personalities. When the tale returns to Cervantes and the dungeon, we're given a bright white indication from above as the lights shift. But that's largely unnecessary as we can quite clearly see the change in McCoy's demeanor.
Loud and boisterous, he belts out "I, Don Quixote" with passion and absolute commitment, working his way through the adventures with an infectious zeal.
The audience saddles up with McCoy's Quixote and his lovable, loyal servant Sancho, ready to throw aside the real world and tangle in the noble battle against windmills and ruffians. The show contends that we'll do it because, as Sancho sings, we simply "like him."
We like him, sure. After all, it's quite fun to follow Quixote along his journey of righteousness, believing his insistence that a roadside inn is actually a castle. We like him, but the truth is we're far too often indifferent to him, and that's the show's greatest shortcoming.
As the title character, Steve McCoy handles masterfully the transition among multiple personalities. When the tale returns to Cervantes and the dungeon, we're given a bright white indication from above as the lights shift. But that's largely unnecessary as we can quite clearly see the change in McCoy's demeanor.
Loud and boisterous, he belts out "I, Don Quixote" with passion and absolute commitment, working his way through the adventures with an infectious zeal.
The audience saddles up with McCoy's Quixote and his lovable, loyal servant Sancho, ready to throw aside the real world and tangle in the noble battle against windmills and ruffians. The show contends that we'll do it because, as Sancho sings, we simply "like him."
We like him, sure. After all, it's quite fun to follow Quixote along his journey of righteousness, believing his insistence that a roadside inn is actually a castle. We like him, but the truth is we're far too often indifferent to him, and that's the show's greatest shortcoming.
Inspiring the Fantasy
Promotional Photo © Celebrity Attractions
As lively and entertaining fights unfold, humorously choreographed with buckets on heads and brooms swatting about, we are able to not really dwell on the fact that there's not a deep connection to Quixote, a real stake in whether he chooses the magic of his dream over the harsh realities of life.
The audience simply stays at arm's length, having fun to be sure, but not truly invested. Where Cervantes' original novel hides psychological and even tragic undertones, the musical cares more that the audience simply revel in imagination than concern itself with why Quixote needs to "dream the impossible dream."
None of this is to say the show is devoid of emotion. It's simply shifted from that expected source. Instead, it's Tess Rohan as the embattled and dejected barmaid/prostitute that steals the show. Her operatic voice beautifully advances the pain she carries as Aldonza, the object of Quixote's chivalrous loyalty.
With Aldonza, the audience is invested. From the moment she takes the stage singing of her cynicism that "It's all the same," the hardened exterior has just enough cracks that hope glimmers. Don Quixote views her as "Dulcinea," the fair and virtuous maiden to which he dedicates his noble pursuits.
Despite her insistence to the contrary, Aldonza soon becomes convinced that she is something more than a mere wench. After she is beaten and raped by the group of muleteers in one particularly effective scene, metaphorically disturbing if not actually visually so, it becomes quite clear that Aldonza has no other choice but to live imagination.
The audience simply stays at arm's length, having fun to be sure, but not truly invested. Where Cervantes' original novel hides psychological and even tragic undertones, the musical cares more that the audience simply revel in imagination than concern itself with why Quixote needs to "dream the impossible dream."
None of this is to say the show is devoid of emotion. It's simply shifted from that expected source. Instead, it's Tess Rohan as the embattled and dejected barmaid/prostitute that steals the show. Her operatic voice beautifully advances the pain she carries as Aldonza, the object of Quixote's chivalrous loyalty.
With Aldonza, the audience is invested. From the moment she takes the stage singing of her cynicism that "It's all the same," the hardened exterior has just enough cracks that hope glimmers. Don Quixote views her as "Dulcinea," the fair and virtuous maiden to which he dedicates his noble pursuits.
Despite her insistence to the contrary, Aldonza soon becomes convinced that she is something more than a mere wench. After she is beaten and raped by the group of muleteers in one particularly effective scene, metaphorically disturbing if not actually visually so, it becomes quite clear that Aldonza has no other choice but to live imagination.
