BWW Reviews: The Orpheum Thinks ONCE Is Not Enough

Despite the fact that I am a great lover of cinema, the film version of ONCE (2006) somehow eluded me; now, the musical stage adaptation, with music by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova and a book by Enda Walsh, is affording Memphians an "off season" "pub crawl" at the historic Orpheum Theatre - and though I have never been particularly fond of Irish whimsy (Barry Fitzgerald's coy old priest in GOING MY WAY is probably the source of that), and though PBS repeats of performances of clarion-voiced Irish lasses sawing away at violins and Riverdancers send me reaching for the remote, I am happy to report that . . . I finally "get it." ONCE is a refreshingly "laid back" vehicle for a musical; its often wistful, incisive, perceptive numbers are an intimate alternative to the often overblown showstoppers of larger musicals.

I'm often suspicious of musicals that "reach out" for audience participation (I'll dodge an aisle seat if I see some musical dynamo, a cross between Terpsichore and the Tasmanian Devil, making eye contact and spinning merrily in my direction). Yet, as it happens here, audience intimacy seems an organic part of the theatrical whole. Just as in a real pub or tavern, emboldened spectators can very well walk into the very scene (before the play and during intermission), have a "spirited beverage," and become a part of the proceedings; this is all nicely and professionally managed.

Moreover, there is the added charm of the very performers themselves functioning as the orchestra. This is handled cleverly by allowing the players to move quietly to the side of the stage - and then become the members of the orchestra. Indeed, casting a show like this is a challenge in itself: Performers not only act and sing, but play a variety of instruments - guitar, accordion, mandolin, banjo, etc.

ONCE is a kind of Irish CHEERS, in fact, with its little cast of characters creating a world unto itself (the fact that the male protagonist is "Guy" and the female, "Girl," suggests a kind of musical EVERYMAN effect). The story itself is simple enough. The Girl is intrigued by the lyrics and performance of a song by Guy, whose talents are usually drowned out by noises of vacuum cleaners (he works as a repairman in his father's shop), and when he walks away from his guitar, she approaches, begins to converse, and discovers that the song that has moved her ("Leave") evolved from a broken relationship, as the object of his affection has moved all the way to New York. Before long, she is reviving the musicianship in him and tinkling the ivories as a band begins to evolve. (She, too, has been in a relationship, which has left her single-mothering a young daughter.) Of course, the big question is this: Will these two find consolation and even lasting happiness as love rises like the foam on a cold beer - or will they merely use each other as emotional wound dressings, only to heal themselves in order to return to others? You'd like to know, but . . . I'm not telling.

The effect of such an unadorned production occupying the stage of the opulent Orpheum is not unlike serving a bologna sandwich at a four-star restaurant; however, a "willing suspension of disbelief," encouraged by an engaging and talented cast, succeeds in making this production work. The pub, with its many mirrors and natural woods, seems warm and inviting, and Bob Crowley is responsible for that. It may have been partly because of the desultory, damp October weather without, but ONCE succeeded in establishing a cozy contrast that, to this viewer at least, was most welcome.

As "Guy" and "Girl," Stuart Ward and Dani de Waal are especially appealing performers. Ward does an especially fine job as the (initially) emotionally wounded "Guy." As the plucky de Waal persists in her encouragement and faith in his abilities, his "journey" towards personal and musical recovery is touching (it helps, too, that he has a beautiful voice - just listen to that higher register); and de Waal, herself a lovely singer, invests "Girl" with a determination and realistic outlook (after all, she is Czech - and thus always serious) that make her most appealing. Everyone around them is good, especially bandmates "Billy" (a very funny, hirsute Evan Harrington) and a tone-deaf Bank Manager (Benjamin Magnuson) - their initial sparring and eventual camaraderie are a nice touch.

All of the songs in this show are pleasing - and a number of them ("Falling Slowly" and "Gold," to name a couple) are even better than that; and the performers have been beautifully guided by Director John Tiffany. There isn't a lot of dance as such, but there is some very nice stage movement, with credit going to Steven Hoggett and Yasmine Lee. Overall, it's an ingratiating, engaging enterprise. Through November 2.

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