Camelot: How Not to Handle a Musical

Proposition: Stars of musicals should probably sing. Another proposition: Kings should be regal rather than petulant. One more proposition: A musical about love, lust, betrayal and war should be thrilling, intense and exciting.

But for all the supposed lustiness of May, the New York Philharmonic's new revival of Alan Jay Lerner & Frederick Loewe's Camelot is surprisingly bloodless, passionless and wan. Despite top-notch talent onstage and behind the scenes, the production never quite gets off the ground to soar the way a Lerner & Loewe musical should.

Granted, Lerner's thoroughly Eisenhower-era book, which strips T.H. White's retelling of the King Arthur legend of much of its less-wholesome aspects, doesn't help much. Devoid of the sex and violence that have endeared the story to generations of readers and dreamers, the show becomes a dreamy tale of ideals and goals, where everyone talks plenty of talk but rarely walks any kind of walk. Talking about love and betrayal may be fine on a page, but on stage, actions speak louder.

So Camelot has never been one of Lerner and Loewe's greatest musicals, but, happily, their score for the show is simply gorgeous. Even happier, it has never sounded better than under the baton of Paul Gemignani, and in the capable hands of the New York Philharmonic. The music is just lovely, and hearing full orchestrations for these classic songs makes one understand the outcry against tiny synthesized bands so often heard on Broadway today.

But the music alone isn't enough to save this production from Lonny Price's hesitant direction and the miscasting of the usually excellent Gabriel Byrne. Arthur's growth from anxious boy to legendary ruler needs to be the emotional core of the show, but Byrne only conveys anxiousness as his single emotion throughout the evening. Stuttering and stammering as the young, nervous Arthur is appropriate, but after the first scene, the king needs to become at least a little bit more self-confident and regal if we are to believe that he is capable of creating the Round Table. Byrne plays him as Willy Loman or Amos Hart, timid and shy, apologizing with every gesture and word for taking up too much of our time. He avoids eye-contact with the rest of the company, creating no tension or intimacy with any of them. Worse yet is his attempt to Rex Harrison his way through the show. (Yes, Rex's name has become a verb.) Speak-singing can work just fine if one speak-sings in rhythm to the music, but Byrne simply recites Lerner's lyrics as blank verse, with little attention to Loewe's music. It only further weakens the performance, which, perhaps, was simply under-rehearsed or under-directed. (It only adds insult to injury to see the charismatic and dynamic Marc Kudisch and Christopher Sieber in the smaller roles of Sirs Lionel and Dinadan, respectively-- either one of them would have made an excellent King Arthur, and could have done that score justice.)

As Queen Guenevere, Marin Mazzie sings beautifully and, foregoing easy sympathy, emphasizes her character's selfish and darker traits (the inclusion of "You May Take Me to the Fair" helps). In this way, Mazzie makes Jenny more flawed and human, and her inevitable downfall is all the more tragic for it. Sadly, she shares almost no chemistry with Byrne, and seems to have been directed to barely look at Nathan Gunn's Lancelot before Act Two (Price's adaptation of the script seems to have cut several of her moments with Lancelot, moving "Before I Gaze at You Again" to the second act.) This makes Arthur's famous speech at the end of Act One rather difficult to believe: he claims he can see their love, but Mazzie and Gunn barely get a chance to strike any sparks together.

As Lancelot, baritone Nathan Gunn owns every moment he is onstage-- indeed, the show finally gets its first jolt of energy when he arrives to sing "C'est Moi." His rich voice fits Loewe's music like a velvet glove, and his "If Ever I Would Leave You" is particularly haunting (the extended ovation he received after that song was well earned). Somewhat unusually for an opera star, Gunn gives a surprisingly intense dramatic performance, finding both the humor and the tragedy in Lancelot's virtues and sins. Sensual and seductive, a vision in leather pants, Gunn makes it easy to see why everyone would be drawn to this Lancelot.

In the smaller roles, Christopher Lloyd is an endearing King Pellinore, providing some first-rate comic relief, and Stacy Keach does some nice work in his few scenes as Merlyn. (His final scene, however, is surprisingly unemotional for all it foreshadows.) Bobby Steggert plays a gothy and overly-campy Mordred, though he nails the frequently-cut "Seven Deadly Virtues." In her single scene as Morgan le Fey, Fran Drescher does her usual schtick rather than taking the opportunity to try something new.

James Noone's simple set for Avery Fisher Hall works quite nicely: square and rectangular boxes become a multitude of locations and props, and four banners on the back wall indicate the passage of seasons-- a nice reference to the show's most famous song. Tracy Christensen's costume design is likewise simple, using single colors to indicate each character's role in Camelot, whether spiritual, regal or military. Josh Prince's choreography is bright and energetic, and works well with Rick Sordelet's smart and intense fight choreography.

Especially in this year, a show about a well-meaning leader and his personal and political weaknesses deserves more respect. Camelot may never go down in history alongside Carousel or West Side Story as a genre-changing musical, but it deserves a stronger revival than this.

With thanks to Alexandra Pflaster for her insights.