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Theater Review: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder at North Coast Rep
The murder is the funny part
You know the old saying: history repeats itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce, and the third time as a musical. I, Claudius gave us the scheming murderess Livia, who built a staircase to the throne of Rome for her son Tiberius, made from the bodies of those who stood to ascend before him. Set a bunch of centuries later, Kind Hearts and Coronets made splendid use of Alec Guinness’ ability to disappear into a role by having him play various members of a single family of the English nobility, all of whom must be eliminated if black sheep Louis is to ascend to the dukedom. The film was itself based on the novel Israel Rank: The Autobiography of a Criminal, but since the musical imitates the movie’s use of a single actor to play various doomed aristocrats, and since that little trick provides no small degree of the play’s pleasure — Nicholas Mongiardo-Cooper puts the “tour” in “tour de force,” moving through his portrayals of various aristocratic asses with ease and aplomb — let’s leave the novel aside, shall we?
So what’s new here? Well, the name has changed from D’Ascoyne to D’Ysquith, the title from duke to earl, and the ending has been tweaked ever so gently in the direction of happiness. But that’s not why you’re here instead of at home with your Criterion Collection edition of Kind Hearts. You’re here for the songs! Robert Freedman and Steven Lutvak have churned out over twenty for this operetta a la Gilbert & Sullivan, many of which you might imagine singing around a piano at a party back in the days when people bought sheet music instead of visiting karaoke bars. (They evoke the pair in content as well as form: the precise patter of “Poison in my Pocket” — say that five times fast — may well put you in mind of certain modern major generals.) In general, the funnier, faster ones are more distinct and successful. Lord Adalbert’s genuinely puzzled “I Don’t Understand the Poor” is a hoot: The lives they lead/ of want and need/ I should think it would be a bore… And bachelor Henry’s duet with our hero Monty “Better with a Man” hits its admittedly easy marks with vital verve: Take a look at us/ It’s been ever thus/ Since boarding school began…
(A word on Monty: it’s a neat trick to portray a wounded soul’s decision to, well, murder the source of his misery while keeping him basically sympathetic to the audience. Kudos to Andrew Polec on that score — there’s a soft sorrow in his eyes that pleads eloquently for our understanding.)
And in general, the women get the slower, more sincere numbers. Lauren Weinberg shines here in what is easily the play’s most complicated role: Sibella, who means it when she sings to the impoverished Monty “I Don’t Know What I’d Do Without You,” but also answers his proposal with, “Marry for love? Now you’re being cruel!” And it’s their enduring love — however compromised — that itself threatens to compromise what should be a simple, stony-hearted killing spree. Good times.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Theater Review: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder at North Coast Rep
The murder is the funny part
Theater Review: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder at North Coast Rep
The murder is the funny part
You know the old saying: history repeats itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce, and the third time as a musical. I, Claudius gave us the scheming murderess Livia, who built a staircase to the throne of Rome for her son Tiberius, made from the bodies of those who stood to ascend before him. Set a bunch of centuries later, Kind Hearts and Coronets made splendid use of Alec Guinness’ ability to disappear into a role by having him play various members of a single family of the English nobility, all of whom must be eliminated if black sheep Louis is to ascend to the dukedom. The film was itself based on the novel Israel Rank: The Autobiography of a Criminal, but since the musical imitates the movie’s use of a single actor to play various doomed aristocrats, and since that little trick provides no small degree of the play’s pleasure — Nicholas Mongiardo-Cooper puts the “tour” in “tour de force,” moving through his portrayals of various aristocratic asses with ease and aplomb — let’s leave the novel aside, shall we?
So what’s new here? Well, the name has changed from D’Ascoyne to D’Ysquith, the title from duke to earl, and the ending has been tweaked ever so gently in the direction of happiness. But that’s not why you’re here instead of at home with your Criterion Collection edition of Kind Hearts. You’re here for the songs! Robert Freedman and Steven Lutvak have churned out over twenty for this operetta a la Gilbert & Sullivan, many of which you might imagine singing around a piano at a party back in the days when people bought sheet music instead of visiting karaoke bars. (They evoke the pair in content as well as form: the precise patter of “Poison in my Pocket” — say that five times fast — may well put you in mind of certain modern major generals.) In general, the funnier, faster ones are more distinct and successful. Lord Adalbert’s genuinely puzzled “I Don’t Understand the Poor” is a hoot: The lives they lead/ of want and need/ I should think it would be a bore… And bachelor Henry’s duet with our hero Monty “Better with a Man” hits its admittedly easy marks with vital verve: Take a look at us/ It’s been ever thus/ Since boarding school began…
(A word on Monty: it’s a neat trick to portray a wounded soul’s decision to, well, murder the source of his misery while keeping him basically sympathetic to the audience. Kudos to Andrew Polec on that score — there’s a soft sorrow in his eyes that pleads eloquently for our understanding.)
And in general, the women get the slower, more sincere numbers. Lauren Weinberg shines here in what is easily the play’s most complicated role: Sibella, who means it when she sings to the impoverished Monty “I Don’t Know What I’d Do Without You,” but also answers his proposal with, “Marry for love? Now you’re being cruel!” And it’s their enduring love — however compromised — that itself threatens to compromise what should be a simple, stony-hearted killing spree. Good times.
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