Nunsense

A sweet little gem of an impromptu premise brought creator (and writer and composer and lyricist) Dan Goggin’s Nunsense into being, fully formed. Folded into nearly every moment of the franchise-spawning musical is the suggestion that the nuns onstage are not professional entertainers, but were rather compelled by disastrous circumstances to throw together a spur-of-the-moment revue. Essentially, forgivable is written into the show’s DNA, excusing gaffes in less-experienced companies and keeping the supposedly unrehearsed content feeling fresh. Even so, keeping the seasoned performer in sight behind the amateur character is critical, which is made unfortunately evident by its absence in the current production at the Encore Musical Theatre Company.

The play’s framework is predicated on a macabre event: the deadly poisoning of the majority of the Little Sisters of Hoboken, and the dearth of money to bury the last four, who are waiting patiently in the convent freezer. Frequently mined for effective gallows humor, the regrettable, half-reverent situation is somehow even more ridiculous than it sounds. In desperation, a handful of the surviving sisters decide to throw a talent show–like fundraiser to hasten the final internments, which is how the audience winds up looking at the Mount Saint Helen's School auditorium stage dressed up for a high-school production of Grease: the play isn’t merely about the event, it is the event. The craftsmanship of the design is exceedingly well-masked; set designer Leo Babcock outfits his dud of a backdrop with secretly interactive mobile components, whereas Daniel Walker’s lighting scheme starts with impersonal fluorescence and sidles into more theatrical effects. Costumer Sharon Larkey Urick dives into the layering humor of women whose thematic accessories must work around their cumbersome habits, supplementing Goggin’s ample word play with visual jokes that mesh well with the predominating low-budget enthusiasm.

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Godspell

The reliance of a production’s success on the people behind it is never more apparent that in a work like Godspell. The book by John Michael Tebelak offers no narrative tension to hide behind; the music and lyrics by Stephen Schrwatz have entered the canon of musical theater classics — a lot for any cast to live up to. Thus, the ten onstage performers of The Encore Musical Theatre Company’s production, as well as director Dan Cooney, have no one but themselves to credit for a vivacious piece of entertainment. Focusing on the tight ensemble and infectious energy of the followers of Jesus, this show is notable for driving its well-hewn story by mood alone.

“Nonspecific” is the name of the game in this telling: set designer Leo Babcock’s architectural details suggest an artfully decrepit abandoned theater, which is inhabited by a small band of ardent believers in the word of God (according to the Gospel of Matthew, upon which the piece is based). The players’ strong and immediate convictions are manifest in make-do, dress-up playfulness (costumes by Sharon Larkey Urick) and space-filling spectacle (assisted by lighting designer Daniel Walker) to match their imaginative explorations of faith. Time period, circumstance, and relationship are inconsequential to this telling; it’s a risky proposition rewarded by the unblemished strength of the ensemble. The approach is helped in no small part by the strong illusion of the first time, drawing the viewer into a string of nonlinear discoveries that appear to be at least half as fun to perform as to watch.

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Smokey Joe's Cafe

The Encore Musical Theatre Company jumps and rocks to the hits of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller in Smokey Joe’s Cafe. The songwriting duo behind the hits “Jailhouse Rock,” “Love Potion #9,” and “Yakety Yak” were integral to the emergence of rock ‘n’ roll as well as solid contributors to the rhythm and blues catalog, as this production’s unbelievably long and memorable playlist attests. Unburdened by meddlesome plot strictures, director and choreographer Barbara F. Cullen and her ensemble cast find themselves free to dig into the jukebox for a whirlwind of reminiscence and lively celebration of 1950s sounds.

This musical revue doesn’t depend on a gimmick or hook to justify itself; its two acts are nothing more than a collection of tunes with their prolific songwriting team in common. Yet the anchor position of a nostalgic group number emphasizing togetherness and the keenly first-person perspective of the lyrics can give the impression that larger themes are going to unfold. Cullen and company wisely take a light hand with the contextual mire: the eight ensemble members suit character choices to the song and moment, never adhering to a single persona, and boys and girls pair off in combinations that avoid strict continuity. A viewer could go cross-eyed scouring the song list and background interactions for hidden meaning, but the company’s efforts are happily expended in a more rewarding pursuit: put simply, the play is the songs, and the songs are great.

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The Light in the Piazza

The Encore Musical Theatre Company explores a different kind of “classic” musical, transporting the viewer to the Continental classicism of The Light in the Piazza (book by Craig Lucas, music and lyrics by Adam Guettel). The musical’s tale of pure love in the face of distance and disapproval is also an old one, but rich vocal performances of a lyrical score are evocative of newness. Moreover, as directed by Steve DeBruyne, the show complements its storybook tone with indulgent design as well as big comic gestures.

Splendid production values are a highlight of this production, bringing literal and representative details to various locales in 1953 Italy. Rarely are set and lighting design (courtesy of Toni Auletti and Matthew Tomich, respectively) implemented with such exceptional teamwork; a column effect lends a sense of open space befitting an Italian piazza, while at the same time evoking various architectural and cultural landmarks as called for by the script. The mid-twentieth century period comes to life in detailed and impressively accessorized costume design (by Sharon Larkey Urick, with hair and makeup by Cara Manor), and Eileen Obradovich’s properties lend credence to interior scenes in the absence of walls or much furniture. The effect is ancient, artistic, and romantic all at once, entirely befitting the tone of the play. And this is to say nothing of The Encore's new amplification setup, conveying every lyric clear as a bell. (The mikes are almost too good, requiring the viewer to tune out footfalls and rustling costumes; however, the adjustment is minor, and it's a far superior predicament to straining to hear lines of dialogue or song.)

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The Music Man

America is too big and diverse and good and bad and right and wrong to be represented by a single defining story, although if it could, Meredith Wilson’s The Music Man would rank high in the running. The country had changed in the half-century between when Wilson set his musical and when he wrote it, providing a built-in nostalgia that has endured the half-century since. Yet as demonstrated by the Encore Musical Theatre Company’s production, change itself can be a constant: the push of the outside world on a complacent society and the excited tumult it brings still feels defiantly American and abundantly contemporary. Readers should note the performance I attended was the final preview, so the version I saw has likely adapted further, but the production’s prevailing theme of resisting and subsequently transforming in unlikely and welcome ways shone clearly through.

The story of a seasoned con and the spell he casts on little 1912 River City, Iowa, is handled with love by director Jon Huffman and an exuberant cast of more than thirty adults and children. Here, the emphasis is on a buttoned-up community on the precipice of discovery and change, for which traveling salesman and supposed band director Harold Hill (Zachary Barnes) is merely the catalyst — he bilks the town’s parents into enrolling their children in a boy’s band, whose expensive instruments and instruction books and uniforms are billed as a kind of insurance policy against youthful indiscretion. Under the encouragement and tutelage of the “professor,” nearly every member of the population bursts out of his shell and embraces some vibrant form of self-expression that was previously frowned upon by the prim, puritanical town. From a story standpoint, these developments are cast as merely a distraction to keep Harold from being found out, but Huffman’s staging finds traction in these moments; the approach lends a creaky pace to the overarching story of a long con, but pays off in positively sterling discoveries that forgive the weaker fare.

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