Spring Awakening Is Back! See the Glamour of the Opening Night Red Carpet and …

28 Sep 2015 | Author: | No comments yet »

‘Spring Awakening’ review: Deaf West winning Broadway revival is going to wound you.

Teenagers don’t listen to their parents. The nonprofit Deaf West Theatre in Los Angeles, which brought Broadway the triumphant Big River in 2003, has done it again with Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik’s rock musical – making inclusionary, astonishingly alive work.One of the great musicals of the last decade was born anew on Sunday, when the thrillingly inventive Deaf West Theater production of “Spring Awakening” opened on Broadway at the Brooks Atkinson Theater.In Deaf West’s exhilarating reboot of the moody and stirring 2007 Tony winner by Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater, the repressed and rudderless kids are lifting more than their voices.

With “Spring Awakening,” which marks the North Hollywood-based theater company’s second major Broadway transfer (following 2003’s “Big River”), the company goes as far as to incorporate the deaf dimension into the plot of the hit musical, transforming a show about the explosive consequences of denying sex ed to a conservative late-19th-century German community into a critique of deaf education policy at the same time. Any qualms theater-lovers might have about this being a premature, whiplash-inducing revival — the original closed in 2009, after all — will vanish like frost in strong sunlight when the young cast of both hearing and deaf actors floods the stage. Michael Arden’s production for the Deaf West company skillfully integrates American Sign Language with Spencer Liff’s choreography, so the doubling of actors doesn’t get in the way of the storytelling. Those terrible errors of translation are much the subject of Frank Wedekind’s 1891 play Spring Awakening and the 2006 musical it inspired, now revived on Broadway by Deaf West, which offers theater by and for both the conventionally abled and the hearing and speech impaired.

When young Wendla unburdens herself in “Mama Who Bore Me,” Sandra Mae Frank emotes and signs the lyrics, while Katie Boeck, a step behind her, strums guitar and sings. The method works intuitively enough, considering that much of Steven Sater’s book and lyrics — adapted from German writer Frank Wedekind’s controversial and oft-censored 1891 play — were projections of the teen characters’ interior angst to begin with. In this production, directed with remarkable finesse by Michael Arden (who starred in the same company’s “Big River,” seen on Broadway in 2003), the primary roles are divided among deaf and hearing actors, with the deaf performers’ songs and some of their dialogue being delivered by actors who double the roles.

Signing is a natural for this story based on Frank Wedekind’s bold 1890 drama about sex and teens whose concerns fall on the deaf ears of parents and professors. Hearing performers often stand in shadow, singing and strumming and speaking as other actors use their hands, arms, body and face to convey the joys and terrors of adolescence. Deaf actors communicate to the hearing audience by relying on colleagues elsewhere onstage to provide their spoken dialogue and singing voice, like alter egos.

It works better than you might expect — and it’s a treat to see Camryn Manheim juggle a couple of supporting parts and give voice to Marlee Matlin, sadly underused in her Broadway debut. A few of the parents – though none of the pastors or schoolmasters – are forward-thinking, but no so forward that they can anticipate the fears and desires of their children.

Even within the familiar format, Mayer gives things a whole new focus by making nearly half of the show’s adolescent ensemble deaf, their characters directly impacted by the consequences of 1880’s Second International Congress on Education of the Deaf. Michael Arden, known as an actor from Deaf West’s “Big River” in 2003 and more recently “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” announces himself as a director in a big way. The result is an exhilarating and fluid hybrid of song, word, dance and sign — and a sheer triumph for director Michael Arden and choreographer Spencer Liff. That symposium, disproportionately stacked to favor champions of the oralist teaching method, passed a series of resolutions attempting to ban sign language from schools, insisting that students instead practice lip-reading and speech.

The kids are meant to be a hot mess of confusion and frustrated horniness, but here they’re so wholesome, you can almost picture them polishing their application to Juilliard, or whatever they call acting school in Germany. Suicidal young Moritz Stiefel is failed at school not out of simple caprice, but rather in a genuine bias against deaf pupils, given stern voice by Patrick Page and severe countenance by Russell Harvard (recently seen as a deaf hit man in TV’s “Fargo”). Wendla happily gives herself to Melchior, then registers mild surprise at learning she’s pregnant — the mama who bore her didn’t tell her about the birds and the bees. But those who saw the original Broadway production will find this one – with its minimal setting and maximal passion – reliably familiar, though with some themes and concerns clearly sharpened. There are also wonderful featured performances by Krysta Rodriguez, who was in the 2006 original, and Ali Stroker, the first actor who uses a wheelchair to make it to Broadway.

Likewise, in sexual encounters that now feel less like outright violations, Wendla and Ernst (Joshua Castille) are deaf students whose desires are now being heard for the first time by their respective partners, the progressive Melchior Gabor (Austin P. It isn’t perhaps as well-sung as the original one and in some cases not as well-acted, though in others, like Krysta Rodriguez’s Ilse, it is perhaps acted better. In terms of the roles that are acted by one actor and sung by another, it takes some adjustment to register the emotion on the face of one performer and then hear it in another’s voice. The choreography here is more minimal than what Bill T Jones offered, but the language is rendered in movement and that movement is often thrilling, which brings new layers to a song like The Word of Your Body.

Ben Stanton’s achingly gloomy lighting that includes silhouettes, long beams and shadows, and Dane Laffrey’s scaffolding-and-ladders scenic design both work well. Whereas the school was merely repressive with regard to its pupils’ sexual desires in earlier versions, now this institution is a deservedly detestable example of the sort of prejudicial selection practices that turned fatal several decades later in Germany. With its brazen treatment of such then-shocking subjects as puberty, pregnancy and abortion, paired with the almost fetishistic regard in which it holds its short-pants-clad ensemble, “Spring Awakening” has always stood in complicated defiance of both Teutonic severity and the lofty Aryan ideal.

Hanschen remains the show’s Hitler-youthiest character, an oily, Draco Malfoy-esque manipulator (who gets a clever sign-language assist during his masturbation scene), while the cast makes room for deaf, African-American actress Treshelle Edmond (sung by Kathryn Gallagher) and wheelchair-bound vocal powerhouse Ali Stroker (“Glee”). “Spring Awakening” puts such inclusivity to thematic use while keeping the show’s rock-music energy high. A mild case of sensory overload may have you reeling in the opening minutes, as you adjust to the necessity of taking it all in, and figuring out where to focus your concentration at any given moment. With classrooms in turmoil and evil teachers being monstrous, it sometimes feels like “Spring Awakening” is what the poor kids from “Matilda” can look forward to in a few years.

For most of the show, the band remains integrated into the shadows of Dane Laffrey’s industrial-looking set, whose steel walls and rolling stairs look more like a 20th-century power station than a German boys’ school. But when necessary, the musicians aren’t afraid to run out into the audience, who won’t soon forget the sight of Matlin rocking an electric guitar in the boxed seats. And it doesn’t take much time before you move beyond the mechanics and fall into the dark flow of Wedekind’s tale of sexual exploration, and the conflict between youthful rebellion and a repressive social order.

Arden’s cast also includes a few notable names: the Oscar winner Marlee Matlin and Camryn Manheim share the half-dozen adult female roles, and Patrick Page portrays many of the stern male authority figures, alongside Russell Harvard. Sets, Dane Laffrey; costumes, Laffrey; lighting, Ben Stanton; sound, Gareth Owen; orchestrations, Sheik; music supervision, Jared Stein; vocal designer, Annmarie Milazzo; string orchestrations, Simon Hale; production stage manager, T.J.

Manheim excels in particular as the flustered mother of Wendla, who in the play’s opening scene evades her adolescent daughter’s innocent question about where babies come from, telling her only that for a woman to bear a child she “must … in her own personal way, she must … love her husband. As only she can love him.” This less than illuminating explanation sets in motion the tragedy that unfolds — or rather one of them. “Spring Awakening” does not present a comforting portrait of the transition from adolescence to adulthood; two of its three central characters don’t survive.

Camryn Manheim, Marlee Matlin, Patrick Page, Russell Harvard, Robert Ariza, Miles Barbee, Katie Boeck, Alex Boniello, Joshua Castille, Lizzy Cuesta, Daniel N. Frank, both through the urgent movements of her signing and her expressive face, in which we can read the bright hunger for experience — and the embarrassment of ignorance. Durant exudes a boyish sense of melodramatic frustration; his brutish father will not countenance anything less than accomplishment, and Moritz’s struggles at school are met with a lack of sympathy that shrivels his vulnerable soul. Arden’s production, with its stark set and spiffy (mostly) period costumes, both by Dane Laffrey, doesn’t depart radically from the original, directed by Michael Mayer. It’s an interesting point of connection, and one might also imagine that deaf actors (and viewers) could identify intuitively with the principal characters’ disorienting sense of alienation from the dominant culture.

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