By Tina Arth
The opening night performance of Broadway Rose’s production
of Company (billed on the cover of
the program as “Stephen Sondheim’s Modern Musical”) gave me a lot to consider. Audiences
and actors alike tend to think of it as
a Sondheim show, but this characterization overlooks the role of librettist
George Furth, whose work on the book creates the episodic flow that injects a
note of coherence into Sondheim’s predictably brilliant music and lyrics. Music
Director Jeffrey Childs does a fine job with the band and vocalists, coaching
them into a flawless musical team as they tackle an extremely challenging score.
However, it is Director Annie Kaiser who bears the much greater burden of
integrating Sondheim’s and Furth’s contributions into a story worth telling.
I was occasionally distracted during the performance by ‘70s
flashbacks, brought on partly by the songs (I kept hearing bits and pieces of
1979’s Sweeney Todd and 1961’s West Side Story, both key in the
evolution of Sondheim’s work) and partly by the narrative structure, so
reminiscent of some early ‘70s sitcoms. Given access to Google after I got
home, I was gratified to learn that Furth’s acting career included several
episodes of Love, American Style, a
show consisting of the same sort of loosely connected vignettes, wryly
commenting on the revolution taking place in America’s approach to love and
marriage. Company tells the story of
Robert, the lone bachelor in a group of married New Yorkers, as he approaches his
35th birthday. His friends adore him, and worry ceaselessly about
his single state – but some of the women (and one of the men) secretly want
him, while the men blatantly envy him his freedom (beautifully expressed in
“Have I Got A Girl For You”). The couples frequently bicker, sometimes painting
a dismal picture of married life, but when they sing together it’s clear that
they have found a curiously fulfilling harmony in their relationships – a
harmony that Robert’s commitment-phobic approach prevents him from achieving.
Jared Q. Miller (“Robert”) has the challenge of creating the
enigmatic protagonist – the eternal observer, good company, connected to so
many, yet maintaining his distance from all. In “Marry Me A Little” he
masterfully conveys not only his attitude toward marriage, but toward life –
“all the stings, the ugly things, we’ll keep unsaid - we’ll build a cocoon of
love and respect, you promise whatever you like, I’ll never collect.” And his show stopping “Being Alive” closes the
story, not with a neat little bow, but with an anguished admission that he must
open himself to pain in order to experience anything real and meaningful in his
life.
Among the rest of the cast (three girlfriends and five
couples) there are several really stunning moments, both in solo and ensemble
work. Most memorable for me are Luisa
Sermol (“Joanne”), Joel Walker (“Peter”), and Justine Davis (“April’). Sermol’s
inebriated, strident, sardonic “The Ladies Who Lunch” is the ultimate anthem to
a generation of cultured, educated, intelligent women wasted by a society that
lionized their empty lives. By the end, when she repeatedly cries “Rise!” I was
hard pressed to stay in my seat. Walker’s sensitive and awkward conversation
with Robert, dancing around the concept of homosexuality, is a poignant
reminder of a time when there was no safety out of the closet. And Davis is
simply amazing as the dumbest little stewardess on the planet (from a time
before they were called, and treated as, “flight attendants”). She is a sparkling
comic, without a trace of self-consciousness in her delivery. Her duet with
Miller, “Barcelona,” is the kind of gem that could stand alone – but that
serves double duty by illustrating a side of Robert that the audience has not
seen.
The set for Company
is a model of minimalist intricacy – appropriately flexible (the story takes
place in a host of locales) and designed to reinforce our understanding that
much of what we see is actually in Robert’s head, removed from contemporary
reality. Costumes have a nice ‘70s feel, ranging from hippie to hipster – my
personal favorite for period authenticity is Norman Wilson, whose mustache and
hair place him firmly in the sitcom feel of the era.
Almost fifty years after its first run, Company is not so much dated as timeless – by adhering to the
manners and mores of the ‘70s, Furth, Sondheim, and Kaiser show us that while
the surface changes, the underlying human stories remain essentially the same.
Company is playing
at Broadway Rose’s New Stage, 12850 SW Grant Avenue, Tigard through Sunday,
February 26th.
