There is an audible “Oooh!” of expectation as the lights dim and the curtain
rises. A stunning sun ascends and the powerful voice of PhindileMkhize rings out. Pounding percussion introduces a
parade of animals down the aisles. Children scream gleefully, witnessing a
life-sized elephant stomp its way toward the stage. It’s all-encompassing:
Technicolor sights and sounds swirl around the audience in a magnificent
spectacle.
Zebras, birds, looming giraffes,
lions, and antelope frolic across the stage, joyfully yodeling “Circle of Life”
as Pride Rock spins up into the air. The sky turns a brilliant blue as newborn Simba, heir to the throne, is presented to his future
subjects.
“I think it’s amazing!” says 8-year-old
Justice Edwards. She is wide-eyed, leaning forward in her seat.
It premiered on Broadway in 1997. The Lion King is the story of Simba’s journey from scared cub to savior king of the Pridelands. The show won six Tony awards, including Best
Musical, Best Director for Julie Taymor, and Best
Choreography for Garth Fagan.
Fagan does Rochester
proud. He successfully combines African, modern, ballet, and hip-hop dance
traditions. The dancers swing, twirl, flail, and jump with aggression, purpose,
and grace.
Taymor
worked with Michael Curry to design more than 200 imaginative masks and puppets
— including rod, shadow, and full-sized — that transform the actors into an
array of animals.
The actors working the puppets and
wearing the masks are visible, so you have to suspend disbelief and buy into
the idea that these are animals with human souls. The audience can choose to
attend to the puppet face or the actor’s face, both are entertaining and expressive.
All of the film’s recognizable songs,
written by Elton John and Tim Rice, are included, supplemented by South African
musician Lebo M. His compositions are rhythmically fascinating, with lyrics
combining Zulu, Sotho, and English; they lend authenticity to the Western
score.
The actors and their characters are
what endear. When asked about her favorite part of the show, Justice says,
“When the meerkat was laughing.” She explains that
the meerkat is Timon, who,
along with his gaseous sidekick Pumbaa the warthog,
befriends Simba after he flees the Pridelands. Timon is played with
verve by John Plumpis; Pumbaa
is played by Ben Lipitz. Their bouncing rendition of
“HakunaMatata” is all the
audience could ask for.
When Mufasa
(played with regality by Thomas Corey Robinson) is lured into a stampede to
save his son, Simba, and is killed, successive
rollers spin herds of wildebeests towards the audience, ending with running
actors dressed in imposing African masks. It’s a convincing illusion. The
undulating drums end as young Simba discovers his
father’s body. This scene follows Mufasa singing
“They Live in You” to Simba, imbuing his son with the
knowledge of past generations that will save and inspire him.
Mark Cameron Pow plays Mufasa’s personal
assistant, Zazu. Pow walks a delicate line between English gentleman
and jester. He flawlessly integrates his own body with that of his puppet,
making its performance expressive. Yet it is PhindileMkhize, as the spiritual leader Rafiki,
who steals the show. Her blast of energy and commitment physically affects the
audience. As she belts “He Lives in You,” asking Simba to look inside himself for the spirit of his father,
she draws tears.
The
Lion King‘s creativity, musicality, and story cross all age and gender
barriers. It’s a physically and emotionally overwhelming experience in the most
powerful and positive of ways.
The Lion King through April 16 | Auditorium Theatre, 885
East Main Street | $22.50-$49.50 | 222-5000,
www.rbtl.org
— Erin Morrison-Fortunato
She might be a commie
Playwright Joan Holden took Barbara Ehrenreich’s book about a social experiment — to see if
anyone can live on minimum-wage work — and made it into the personal story of
Barbara, an upper-middle-class woman delving into the working-class world.
It’s not interesting because of the
drama of Barbara’s journey. It’s interesting because Barbara, most likely, is
us. We, sitting in the audience at a community theater, probably don’t work for
$6 an hour. More likely we are NPR listeners, New York Times readers, homeowners. We are Barbaras.
And maybe, like Barbara, we’ve sometimes wondered how we would survive in the
wilderness.
Barbara (Judy Molner)
starts her experiment waitressing at Kenny’s for
$2.15 an hour plus tips. She moves to two other cities and works as a hotel
maid, a housecleaner, a dietary aide, and a clerk at Mal-Mart, never making
more than $7 an hour.
Molner has
enough self-deprecating charm to invest a relatively flat character with life
and handle the many asides to the audience. The rest of the cast is also
excellent — everyone plays multiple characters and does it with apparent
ease.
The play is in some ways a
condensation of the book, and it calls for quick scene shifts. Both set and
direction can be a little bulky to pull that off. But the transitions get
better in the second act, and Mal-Mart comes alive as a fluorescent wasteland.
In one scripted interruption, the
actors step out of their characters to engage the audience in a discussion on
class and wages. But it isn’t necessary. There’s far more power in the moments
between Barbara and her coworkers. They don’t want to talk back to the boss.
They don’t want to work faster for the same pay. They don’t want to ask for
maternity leave. And they certainly don’t want to pick up her slack when she
inevitably quits to go back to her real life.
At one point, Barbara gives a fellow
waitress the keys to her trailer before she skips town. “Well, I guess we’re
even,” Gail says.
Nickel & Dimed:
On (Not) Getting By in America through March 25 | Blackfriars Theatre, 28
Lawn Street | $22-$24 | 454-1260,
www.blackfriars.org
— Erica Curtis
This article appears in Mar 15-21, 2006.
