The show is set during the Civil War, and Ford's is a major
landmark of that era. In addition, when this 1975 anti-war musical debuted, the
country was still reeling from Vietnam; three decades later, the nation is at
loggerheads over our involvement in another foreign conflict. Finally, this
revival is directed by Jeff Calhoun, whose Deaf West production of Big River -
set just before the Civil War - was one of the finest shows this critic has ever
seen at Ford's.
Shenandoah gets off to a strong start. The central feature of
designer Tobin Ost's set is a huge picture frame with the words, "The Nation
Mourns," emblazoned on the bottom. And, in the anthem-like opening number,
"Raise the Flag of Dixie," the soldiers' uniforms (also designed by Ost) are
Confederate gray on one side and Union blue on the other - a clever visual
symbol of the division that split the nation, families and even individuals'
loyalties.
The action focuses on the family of Virginia farmer Charlie Anderson, who is
determined to keep his six sons out of the war. In the first scene at the
Anderson home, Calhoun paints an eerily prescient picture of the war's impending
impact by having dead soldiers lie on the periphery when the family sits down to
dinner.
There are also some fine performances - especially those of Scott Bakula as
Charlie Anderson, whose love for his family transcends any other allegiance, and
Megan Lewis as his stout-hearted daughter, Jenny. But as the show progresses,
the picture frame with its omnipresent slogan becomes heavy-handed, particularly
when Calhoun arranges the actors in tableaux within the frame. (Nor is it
entirely clear why some scenes take place within the frame and others outside
it.)
Much of the overall problem lies with the show itself, which is adapted from the
1965 movie and has a script by Peter Udell, Philip Rose and screenwriter James
Lee Barrett; music by Gary Geld and lyrics by Udell. According to a program
note, Calhoun worked with the musical's creators "to strengthen and streamline
the structure of the piece."
But the structure seems more jagged than streamlined. The first act is almost
relentlessly gleeful; the second act is mostly dour. For half of the show,
Charlie Anderson cheerfully maintains his isolationist stance. Then his youngest
son (adorable Kevin Clay) gets kidnapped by Union soldiers and Charlie becomes a
fire-breathing militant, setting prison trains on fire (after freeing the
prisoners) and imposing eye-for-an-eye justice.
And, for a show whose largest female role is that of gun-toting,
trousers-wearing Jenny, Shenandoah evinces some highly sexist sensibilities.
These pop up most blatantly in Jenny's prenuptial heart-to-heart with her
sister-in-law and in Charlie's advice to Jenny's future husband.
The musical also suffers from patches of excessive cuteness. When the six
brothers break into acrobatic dancing in "Next to Lovin' (I Like Fightin'),"
their happy hoofing suggests the title should be: "Next to Lovin', I Like Dancin'."
In the end, Ford's Shenandoah turns out to be better in theory than practice.
Like the final tableau Calhoun encloses in the giant frame for the curtain call,
too often the show feels like a living-history project instead of a vibrant
musical.
>>>Shenandoah Through April 30 at Ford's Theatre, 511 10th St. N.W.,
Washington. $25-$52. 202-347-4833 or fordstheatre.org.
Copyright © 2006 The
Baltimore Sun
