Review - Hamlet & Little Shop of Horrors

Eloquence without the elegance is how I'd describe Michael Stuhlbarg's scruffy, hyperactive and somewhat nerdy take on the title role in director Oskar Eustis' amusing hodgepodge of a production of Hamlet. Though perfectly placid for the first several minutes of his performance, silently contemplating his father's death and his uncle's marriage to his newly widowed mother at a downstage eternal flame that perpetually flickers its symbolism throughout the evening, he's soon wildly wringing his hands with nervous excitement, flailing his arms about in range and stomping his feet to the floor like the kind of actor he'll later be warning his players not to be. In fact, it's not until the prince starts feigning madness that he begins resembling a grown-up. It's not an interpretation that will tug at your soul, but it'll damn well get your attention without taxing your brain.

And that's a quality I rather enjoyed about this production. Leave your sullen, introspective, clearly focused Hamlet's reserved for late autumn and indoor theatres. After sweating though the day in 95 degree weather during an early New York heat wave and feeling the thick humidity of approaching midnight showers while sitting outdoors in Central Park's Delacorte, I appreciated a flashy, actorly approach with some unexpected humor and some really unexpected violence.

Set designer David Korins has the evening played atop stacked layers of slate rock and places imposing steel walls upstage, making Elsinore seems like a prison. (In one scene he cleverly has the wall represent an ocean liner.) Ann Hould-Ward's eclectic mix of costumes features ornamental uniforms for many of the men, neat mismatched suits and bowler hats for Rosenencrantz and Guildenstern (Hoon Lee and Greg McFadden) and a somewhat Nancy Reagan, somewhat Jackie Kennedy ensemble for Queen Gertrude (Margaret Colin).

The cast also provides an eclectic mix of styles, with varying effect. Sam Waterston does some lovely work as a Polonius who is sweetly empathetic, despite his buffoonish loquaciousness. Lauren Ambrose's touching Ophelia is the most naturalistic portrayal of the night and Jay O. Sanders is great fun as the revenge-hungry ghost, the amiable player king and the dark-humored gravedigger. (In the early scenes Acme Sound Partners does a terrific job of wordlessly communicating the movement of the ghost throughout the space.)

Andre Braugher's Claudius is more of an orator than a character, though he is a strong presence, as is David Harbour's sputtering Laertes. Colin's Gertrude seems a tad undefined.

The Players in this production are actually puppeteers and the enormous marionettes created by Basil Twist, billowing fabrics that take on remarkably human forms, deliver some of the most subtle and nuanced performances of the night. Perhaps they can play the lead roles when the chill of autumn hits the air, but in the meantime this summer Hamlet works for me.

Photos by Michal Daniel: Top: Michael Stuhlbarg and Sam Waterston; Bottom: Michael Schupbach, Bruce Cannon, and Erin Orr

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Little Shop of Horrors, now getting a perfectly charming mounting via director Mark Waldrop at The Paper Mill Playhouse, is just another example how, with the exception of Lenny Bruce's comedy and Robert Mapplethorpe's photos, yesterday's subversive art eventually winds up as today's family fare. How else do you explain the dozens and dozens of well-dressed tykes, one sitting next to me in a booster seat, accompanying their parents and grandparents on the production's opening night to enjoy a musical about a budding romance between woman with low self-esteem who accepts physical abuse from her sadistic boyfriend and a guy who feeds bloody body parts to satiate the man-eating plant that's helping him win fame and fortune?

Of course, the giddily sick humor of its source material, Roger Corman's ultra low budget 1960 film, has been considerable softened by the peppy and tuneful score by Alan Menken (music) and Howard Ashman (book and lyrics) which mixes traditional showtune with sassy dollops of Motown and doo-wop. And while some of its lesser songs tend to drag the story-telling down to a near crawl, there are plenty of semi-standards like "Somewhere That's Green" (a sparking satire of 1950's suburban values), "Suddenly Seymour," "Grow For Me" and the infectiously catchy title song to keep spirits light.

Set in and around a florist shop on the mean streets of Skid Row, designers Paul Wonsek (original set), Adam Koch (additional set design), Matthew Hemesath (costumes) and Ben Stanton (lights) supply the gritty atmosphere and the narrating trio of Chiffon (Montego Glover), Crystal (Badia Farha) and Ronnette (Angela Grovey) deliver their tight girl-group harmonies with lots of street-wise swagger.

Waldrop keeps the campiness to a minimum, having his lead actors play the nutty situation with sincerity. Jared Gertner has a knockout belt on him, playing the horticultural genius, Seymour, with awkward nobility. Jenny Fellner plays his co-worker Audrey with Marilyn Monroe sweetness, singing with admirable pathos as the girl who longs for a healthy relationship with a nice guy while feeling undeserving of happiness. The director seems to have made the decision to tone down the violent menace of Audrey's abusive boyfriend, Orin (Asa Somers), playing up the character's maniacal silliness, which weakens the actor's impact, especially in his big song. But Somers is still very effective in his other comic roles, as is Stephen Berger as the crotchety shop owner, Mr. Mushnik.

Of course, inevitably stealing any production of Little Shop is the botanical bully known as Audrey II, who grows from a cute little sprout to a man-eater of room-filling proportions. The puppet plant, designed and built by Monkey Boys Productions (based on Martin P. Robinson's original), manipulated by Michael Latini, and voiced by Michael James Leslie's soul-singing basso, is a very funny creation and its expressions are often puppy-dog adorable.

This zippy production of a Baby Grand Guinol favorite is a swell night out.

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