Music
by Leonard Bernstein
Book by Hugh Wheeler,
Based on the Satire by Voltaire
Lyrics by Richard
Wilbur
Additional Lyrics
by Stephen Sondheim, John Latouche, Lillian
Hellman, and Leonard Bernstein
Book adapted for the
New York Philharmonic by Lonny Price
Orchestrations by
Leonard Bernstein and Hershy Kay
Additional Orchestrations
by John Mauceri
Cast (in order
of appearance)
Dr. Pangloss/Narrator/Voltaire:
Sir Thomas Allen
Candide: Paul Groves
Baron/Inquisitor/Don Issachar/Cacambo:
Michael McCormick
Baroness/Sheep: Gina Ferrall
Paquette: Janine LaManna
Cunegonde: Kristin Chenoweth
Maximillian: Jeff Blumenkrantz
Judge/Captain/Crook: Michael McElroy
Judge/Aide/Prefect/Governor: John Herrera
Heresy Agent/Archbishop/Priest: Ray
Wills
The Old Lady: Patti LuPone
Sheep: Patty Goble
Vanderdendur/Ragotski: Stanford Olsen
Company:
Westminster
Symphonic Choir, Joseph Flummerfelt, director
Juilliard
Undergraduate Workshop, Edward Berkeley, director
Leonard
Bernstein’s joyously black humored Candide
is a tough, almost unruly animal to convey,
and its checkered history onstage is perhaps
the best evidence of the difficulties inherent
in the score. With its brilliant, curious
mix of music – sort of "Broadway meets
Gilbert & Sullivan, who dream up Spanish
kitsch while channeling Rossini, all perhaps
colliding with Offenbach" – and its deadpan
story overloaded with comedy, tragedy and
ambiguity, it can seem puzzling to know how
to fully give flight to the composer’s vision.
The music, however, is some of Bernstein’s
most memorable, and joined with Hugh Wheeler’s
book and lyrics offers inspired invention
for the orchestra, not to mention hilarious
and gripping passages for the cast.
As a
longtime admirer of the Westminster Symphonic
Choir, here onstage during the entire production,
it must be noted that they triumphed, both
individually and as a group, in the midst
of a fairly starry sky of big-name singers.
Aided by talented members of the Juilliard
Undergraduate Workshop, the chorus was probably
encouraged to be more physical than in anything
they have recently attempted. Whether holding
up signs or unfurling banners, not to mention
donning masks, Hawaiian leis, fake noses and
God-knows-what-else I’ve missed, all the while
running up and down steps and traversing back
and forth across the stage, the group seemed
completely natural as a sort of overlarge
singing comedy troupe. Director Lonny Price
made the most of an ensemble that has secured
its international reputation based on vocal
artistry alone, and his movement coaching
can only have added to the group’s precise
and often exquisite musical contributions.
Diction was terrific. In an age when English-language
operas nevertheless require surtitles, I was
floored to be able to easily hear At last
we can be cheery/The danger’s passed us by.
/So sing a Dies Irae/And hang the bastard
high! And whether in the glowingly hushed
passages of The Ballad of Eldorado
or the unbelievably moving a capella
climax of the final Make Our Garden Grow,
the tone and discipline on display were mesmerizing.
Paul
Groves, who was sensational last season as
Tom in The Rake’s Progress at the Met,
seemed ideally cast as the dim-witted protagonist,
seeming much younger than his years, and even
managing a nifty cartwheel amid his other
shenanigans. Vocally he could not have sounded
better, his lyrical tenor soaring off into
the hall (yes, amplified, but more on that
later). Two numbers in particular, It Must
Be So and Ballad of Eldorado, were
simply breathtaking in Groves’ hands, and
further, the moments when he and Kristin Chenoweth
rhapsodized together were among the most heart-stopping
moments in the evening.
Chenoweth
seemed a close-to-perfect Cunegonde, singing
the difficult part with great accuracy coupled
with spot-on comic timing. Her huge voice
is somewhat at odds with her petite size;
she seemed about three feet tall and wore
a frothy pink frock that caused the distinguished
Sir Thomas Allen (unequivocally winning as
Dr. Pangloss) to refer to her as "a little
raspberry coulis." The showstopping Glitter
and Be Gay, done by singers as diverse
as Renée Fleming, Barbara Cook, Dawn
Upshaw and June Anderson (on Bernstein’s recording),
is perhaps difficult to make one’s own – but
Chenoweth’s riotous invention created a take
on it that was wholly hers, and wholly convincing.
In the song’s stratospheric first "sigh,"
usually tossed off with delightfully literal
precision, Chenoweth gave it a deliberate
rasp, sounding almost as if she were having
a heart attack.
Patti
LuPone had a hilarious time as the Old Woman,
whose lost buttock is never entirely explained
to anyone’s satisfaction. Janine LaManna was
entirely engaging as Paquette, and Jeff Blumenkrantz
had a high time as the narcissistic Maximillian,
even tossing out a nice falsetto.
The
orchestra, unamplified as far as I could tell,
sounded thoroughly magnificent, such as the
jazzy work from the brass, and some beautiful
string work accompanying Groves in his ballads.
I loved concertmaster Glenn Dicterow’s deliberately
sickly violin solo in Quiet, in which
the characters complain about their malaise
using an anemic melodic line that sounds vaguely
like a twelve-tone row. Comparable to the
Philharmonic’s recent work on Sondheim’s Sweeney
Todd, it is a complete pleasure to hear
a score like this played by experts.
Director
Price kept the almost nonstop action at a
level that both those onstage and the audience
could tolerate, without degenerating into
undue busywork. Yes, some of his decisions
I didn’t care for. The gorgeous It Must
Be So was interrupted by laughter when
an LP of West Side Story was slowly
passed down the chorus line to be dropped
in Candide’s bag – a cheap laugh, and all
the more irritating for obliterating Groves’
beautiful singing. The opening banner, with
the single word Optimism? in giant
blue letters on a bright yellow background,
seemed completely unnecessary, and other jokey
asides, such as the self-conscious references
to LuPone’s stardom, also seemed like distractions
that will only be more tiresome as time wears
on. But overall, Price had a keen sense of
pacing with a show that can seem, like Candide’s
odyssey, meandering and just plain long. (The
piece clocked in at just under three hours.)
In a host of technical credits, the lighting
design by Kevin Adams was exemplary: very
subtly conceived, given the semi-staged constraints,
and with well-executed cues that never called
attention to themselves.
But
the real star of the evening was conductor
Marin Alsop, whose commanding assurance illuminated
Bernstein’s score as truthfully, and as stirringly,
as we are likely to hear it. What impressed
me from the opening bars of the score was
her ability to project its rhythmic invention
with such precision. The fizzing Overture
is incredibly tricky, with skittering syncopations
and explosive rhythm changes, and in mediocre
performances an ensemble can seem to be lagging
behind itself. But in this case, tempi seemed
flowing enough to encourage the vocalists
to phrase well, but not so briskly that the
beauty of Bernstein’s score was thrown to
the wolves. Technically assured throughout
the evening, Alsop seemed to know the score
in her sleep and was able to (seemingly) have
as much fun as the audience and everyone else
onstage. She was even generous with her persona
to include a brief double-take: as LuPone
revealed her multiple torments in I am
Easily Assimilated, a mock-shocked Alsop
whirled to face the audience and gasped, "Stark
naked?"
The
issue of amplification in concert halls is
a touchy one, and I am as wary as anyone of
the perils of using electronics, especially
in a huge and relatively complex production.
Frankly, I don’t want to be aware of microphones,
are being used, much less hear even a hint
of distortion or feedback. Interestingly during
the finale, Groves’ microphone cut out briefly,
just for a split-second, allowing a tiny moment
for comparison when his voice was being projected
naturally. Not only did he carry above the
other (amplified) voices, but I got a glimpse,
admittedly quite brief, of what the production
might have sounded like in natural sound.
Now, all of this said, with all the physical
cavorting onstage, it is unlikely that the
complicated lyrics would have been audible
without body mikes, and further, that the
right balances with the orchestra would have
been achieved – perhaps a Solomon-like decision
but one I would affirm, given the results.
The
sold-out performances were taped for broadcast
– apparently for PBS’ Great Performances
and/or DVD release – and anyone who loves
Bernstein’s majestic, witty score should investigate
when the recording appears. Viewers will probably
end up whistling Life is Happiness Indeed
– all irony intact – just as I did on the
way out.
Bruce Hodges
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