Review: Refuge Theatre's HIGH FIDELITY Spins a Scruffily, Beautifully Universal Story

HIGH FIDELITY is a cult property nonpareil. I should know, because I'm in the cult. Nick Hornby's novel - of love, loss, and adult growing pains - is my go-to on a rainy day; and Stephen Frears's film works precisely because it preserves Hornby's text so well, not to mention reliably funny yet soulful turns from John Cusack and Jack Black.

I've also held the cast recording of the Broadway musical in esteem for years. I say "esteem" only because I've wanted to see the show live, to see how everything hangs together. It hasn't been easy to come by, since the show only ran a little over thirty performances on Broadway, which tends to put a crimp in post-Broadway plans.

So it was a matter of both excitement and trepidation at Refuge Theatre Project's loft-space production to get to see a rarely-seen musical, and to find out whether it's rarely seen for a reason.

Upon leaving and after much reflection, I still cannot find any such reason. HIGH FIDELITY spins beautifully, not only because it is (yes, indeed) highly fidelitous to Hornby, but because it teases out the musical that has always been inside it.

The story has taken place in London (novel), Chicago (film), and New York (Broadway), and though Refuge bills this production as a "homecoming," precise location doesn't really matter. (Though it does provide great opportunity for local references.) Really, the show takes place in headspace, specifically the headspace of Rob Gordon (Max DeTogne), floundering record store owner and romantic strikeout, most recently with Laura (Liz Chidester). The story in terms of events may seem slight - Rob loses Laura, Rob sorts through his life - but the journey - loaded with striking observations about music, melancholy, jealousy, and regret - turns it into something cozily universal. And being so universal also makes it wickedly funny when called for.

David Lindsay-Abaire, a playwright who traffics in awkwardness and words left unspoken, proves a natural fit for this material, especially in any record-store scene featuring Rob and his co-workers, the awkward Dick (Stephen Garrett) and the boorish Barry (Nick Druzbanski), all three of whom believe being the defenders of "real music" makes up for their distressingly empty lives.

He also even uses one-dimensionality artfully, a device that has apparently led to a lot of misconceptions about the musical. Yes, Laura and Rob's bevy of break-ups are one-dimensional because that's precisely how Rob seems them, as "supporting characters in his life story." As the show progresses, though, and Rob reflects and matures, he finds he can't mentally rely on the women who broke his heart to dutifully act as his backup chorus, his personal army against Laura. And Laura becomes just as achingly human as he is. (Never more apparent than when Chidester sings her version of the three-part "I Slept With Someone...")

The score, by Tom Kitt (music) and Amanda Green (lyrics), also proves a sensible fit for the material, running the gauntlet from savage wit to heart-cracking earnestness, with styles ranging from no-nonsense Motown to world-weary open-mic indie rock to shredding power rock. Their integrity to these disparate styles is upheld by John Cockerill's exemplary music direction.

Same for Christopher Pazdernick's work as director and choreographer, who works with an authentic Hornby hand, head, and heart: He ably distinguishes between fantasy and reality - between the world-via-Rob's-brain and the world as-is. He knows when to laugh at the characters' social idiocies and when to feel for their faults; He knows when a passing reference is a passing reference and when it shifts the tone entirely. And, despite the consistent movement, he keeps everything clear. Because when things are clear - when Rob's brain is clear and focused - HIGH FIDELITY, for all its sarcasm and irony, shines with sincerity.

Max DeTogne also carries a lot of that responsibility, especially since, as Rob, he barely leaves the stage. As narrator and audience confidante, he spends as much time talking, musing, rationalizing, and justifying to us as he does to himself. Rob isn't a total asshole, just a guy in a rut who feels that getting older (and thus facing mortality) means personal change won't do much good, so he shores up with what he already has, even if what he has is a struggling record shop, a pathetic customer base, and a lousy track record with commitment. You can't help but sympathize with the scruffy DeTogne, even as his confessions take painful turns. But it's all worth it just to hear him sing "Laura, Laura."

And as Laura, Liz Chidester plays everything from a sensible woman trying to sort out what she wants, all the way to a rock temptress in the kickass nightmare sequence, "Number 5 With a Bullet."

As the "musical moron twins," Stephen Garrett as Dick acts as Rob's foil, his heart as firmly stitched to his sleeve as his headphones are affixed to his ears, tuning out the noisy world as much as he can. And Nick Druzbanski wisely avoids the Jack Black model; here, his rudeness and crudeness cover up his own lingering sense of stagnation and apparent lack of talent. (The latter proves entirely baseless by the end, is all I'll say.)

Other chart-toppers: Caitlin Jackson as Rob's tough-love friend (frenemy?) Liz; Tony Carter as the insufferable hippie/party to infidelity Ian; and Noah Berman, doubling as both the Most Pathetic Man in the World (and succeeding at it) and a dead-on Bruce Springsteen cameo. Not to mention Michelle Manni, who transformed this humble loft space into a lived-in audiophiliac wonderland.

So, for a show as unfairly rare as a deleted Smiths single, don't be like Rob and company: change your plans, settle in for a night of HIGH FIDELITY at Championship Vinyl, and get in on what Hornby, Kitt, Green, and Lindsay-Abaire have to play for you.

HIGH FIDELITY runs through February 28th at Refuge Records, 666 W. Hubbard Ave., Chicago, near the Blue Line Grand Ave El station and the #8 Halsted bus stop. Ample street parking is also available. Performances are on Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 6 p.m. Tickets cost $20, and are available online at refugetheatre.com.

Photo credit: Laura Leigh Smith

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