Review: GUYS AND DOLLS Revives Old New York at Pittsburgh Public

Every time I watch Guys and Dolls I have the same nagging question: when exactly is this show supposed to be set? There are no easy answers, as any choice renders some aspect of the show anachronistic, whether it's the easy commercial flights to Havana, Rat Pack influenced jazz sounds, prohibition-touting Bible thumpers, Al Capone stand-ins and snoopy plainclothes policemen, or the old-fashioned, Shakespeare-by-way-of-Brooklyn street dialect which evokes the Newsies era. Director/choreographer Ted Pappas takes the unusual but equally valid stance of setting the show in the 1950s, the era in which is was written, giving his production a fizzy, Technicolor quality which spills through the entirety of the production.

If you've never seen Guys and Dolls, first, let me welcome you to American musical theatre, you're going to enjoy it. All snark aside, the show tells the intertwining stories of young champion gambler Sky Masterson (Charlie Brady) and not-so-young, not-such-a-champion gambler Nathan Detroit (Joel Hurt Jones). Detroit, a hustler known around New York for organizing dice games in shady locations, needs one thousand dollars to set up his latest venture. With the help of his henchmen Nicely-Nicely Johnson (Quinn Patrick Shannon) and Benny Southstreet (Gavan Palmer), he makes the womanizing Masterson a bet he can't refuse: one thousand dollars says Masterson can't take prim and prissy teetotaler missionary Sarah Brown (Kimberly Doreen Burns) on a date. Detroit has his own lady troubles, as his long-term fiancée, the burlesque dancer Miss Adelaide (Kirsten Wyatt), has noticed she's not getting any younger and Detroit refuses to settle down, give up his schemes, and marry her.

Guys and Dolls being a Broadway show from the early twentieth century, with a distinctly New York sense of humor and irony, Nathan Detroit and his pack are the wimpiest gangsters imaginable. They don't swear, they shudder at the sight of a gun, and the worst crime they commit in the entire show is unlicensed gambling. Herein lies the show's greatest gag: once the audience has adjusted to the ultimately toothless hoods through most of Act 1, notorious Chicago crook and ACTUAL gangster Big Jule (Jerry Gallagher) and his enforcer, Harry the Horse (Alex Noble). These guys aren't kiddie-show criminals like Nathan Detroit and his friends, and Detroit's attempt to appease notoriously poor gambler Jule long enough to save his own skin leads to the show's most famous, and most farcical comedy routine, involving a dice game in the sewer.

The cast is routinely great across the board, with Charlie Brady exuding an athletic, self-assured physicality and charm as Sky Masterson that perfectly balances his chemistry with Kimberly Doreen Burns's Sarah. A veteran of Pittsburgh Public musicals, Burns moves almost incongruously back and forth between ringing legit soprano and jazzy belt, particularly in her showcase number "If I Were a Bell." The trio of hustlers bring a rare subtlety to the often cartoonish roles, and there is a weary good-naturedness to Jones's Detroit that sits between happy-go-lucky and sad sack. Quinn Patrick Shannon and Kirsten Wyatt deserve medals for milking two of the biggest scene-stealing roles in musical theatre history without ever turning their characters into caricature.

There is, however, one character who genuinely DOES become a caricature, and more power to him for it: Jerry Gallagher, the seven-foot cinderblock playing Big Jule. A quick look at his resume, covered with portrayals of Big Jule around the country, proves that this character actor knows his way around the role. By merely walking onstage, dwarfing the tall men and almost eclipsing the not-so-tall men, Gallagher commands attention. His every word a guttural growl, his every line a winning punchline, Gallagher utterly embodies the sometimes throwaway character who forces the plot of Abe Burrows's libretto into motion.

Sets and sound are as perfectly calibrated as usual at the Public, and the use of a live orchestra under the stage, whose music is piped in through speakers, has the unexpected benefit of a compressed, nostalgic sound reminiscent of old Frank Sinatra albums from his 1950s "swing plus strings" heyday. Times Square has changed considerably thanks to decades of progress and commercial advancement, so if you miss the old New York of hoodlums, hookers, crooks and reformers, this is the show for you.

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