Ain't Misbehavin'
Not to be confused with jukebox musicals (and their frequently shoehorned plots), the musical revue lets a collection of works stand on its own merits. In Ain’t Misbehavin’ (conceived by Richard Maltby, Jr., and Murray Horwitz, and created/arranged/adapted by a laundry list of contributors), the music is that of Thomas “Fats” Waller, the venerated jazz performer and prolific composer. With nothing more than a set list and an after-hours impromptu feel, this Performance Network Theatre revue, directed by Tim Edward Rhoze, doesn’t require fanfare: it makes its own.
In a sunken speakeasy-type joint in 1940s Harlem, five revelers and their four-piece jazz combo aren’t ready to call it a night, so they sing and dance to their hearts’ content. Seriously, that’s all the setup this show — and this team — needs. Set designer Daniel C. Walker introduces cabaret seating to the Network stage, creating a conspicuously cramped, make-do playing space that proves boundless in the director and cast’s collective imagination. Waller’s melodies are handled superbly by this group; under musical director/arranger R. MacKenzie Lewis, expert vocal proficiency is apparent, both alone and in groups. Yet the crowning achievement of the musical performances is their abundant spontaneity, a quality equally well represented in choreographer Robin Wilson’s jovial non-lockstep movement: the fresh and unscripted feeling was never so alive as it is here. The off-the-cuff music and dancing beats actually make some spoken exchanges feel comparatively hacky; even with an unobtrusive boost from sound designer Edward Weingart, the action puts on a temporary veneer to ensure the humorous ribbing can be heard above the uproarious party atmosphere.
Although its momentum could probably propel the audience straight through from beginning to end, an intermission bisects the production, mercifully so for the cast and band, who more than earn it by covering 30 unique songs in a total of 120 minutes (and that the whirlwind pace makes it feel more like 120 in 30). In keeping with the revue format, viewers who crave story will come up short here, but those willing to trade in plot for more songs and revelry will undoubtedly appreciate the value of the exchange. The characters do share an amicable rapport, shouting jokes and encouragement to each other throughout the play. However, they wisely eschew the confining boundaries of well-defined relationships and keep the associations loose; a handful of forced catty moments among the women reinforce that camaraderie was in fact the better choice.
The cast makes en exemplary ensemble, whose fine work together is punctuated by individual standout moments, especially as the initial informality begins to give way to playful interpretation of songs that fall more in the novelty vein. Darrian Ford is a triumphant clown in his go-for-broke solo regarding an illicit substance, whereas James Bowen sells a cosmetic complaint with stylized lyric readings and hilariously disgusted faces. K Edmonds’s kittenish turn at an amorous request is unbearably sexy in its stillness and understatement, a number that holds amazing parallels to Kron Moore’s heartbreaking, emotionally beaten down ballad about a cruel lover. Jennifer Cole takes what could have been a merely oblivious character and makes her the ineffably proud center of her own delightful little world, poised to be an instant favorite. Because dozens of lyricists contributed to Waller’s many compositions, the tone changes frequently; these many exuberant, funny, loving, patriotic, satiric, and enduring numbers are all prelude to a terrifically moving closing piece that speaks to the blight and sting of racism and adds somber, meditative context to the prior jubilation.
Pizzazz is rampant in this Ain’t Misbehavin’, right down to the posh costumes (by Suzanne Young) designed to glitter under Mary Cole’s seductive nightclub lighting scheme. The production is especially noteworthy for cultivating an invaluable sense of newness, in which the cast finds an inexhaustible source of delight; if the viewer has even half as much fun as the performers do, he’s guaranteed an extraordinary time.
November 22, 2011