Lost in the Stars (in Concert)

Having seen Arvin Brown's splendid 1986 production of "Lost in the Stars" at Connecticut's Long Wharf Theatre, I know the visceral punch it can pack. I don't expect such dramatic power from a concert version, what with its limited rehearsal and inevitably circumscribed staging. Still, this Encores! presentation sets a new low for sucking the life out of a work. It's not the fault of the high-caliber cast, one perfectly capable of delivering the goods in this 1949 musical tragedy by Kurt Weill (music) and Maxwell Anderson (book and lyrics), based on Alan Paton's classic novel about apartheid in South Africa, "Cry, the Beloved Country." No, the fault lies in Gary Griffin's clueless and static direction, with assistance from David Ives' emasculating script adaptation. Here and there a performer manages a momentary breakthrough, but ultimately this searing show is left smothered in its cradle.

The central story is that of Christian clergyman Stephen Kumalo's crisis of faith, which occurs when his only child, Absalom, is arrested for murder. Asbalom has left his bucolic village of Ndotsheni to work in the gold mines of Johannesburg and make enough money to attend college. Once there, he falls in with a bad lot, quits the mines, gets a young woman pregnant, and, desperate for funds, agrees to participate in a robbery of the home of Arthur Jarvis, a white anti-apartheid activist who coincidentally also comes from Absalom's village. The robbery goes wrong, and in the confusion Absalom fearfully fires his gun, accidentally killing Arthur. Not having heard from Absalom for nearly a year, Stephen is actually in Johannesburg searching for him when the murder occurs. The father has always counseled his son to tell the truth, but if Absalom does, it could lead to his execution. But unlike his co-conspirators, the young man, eager for redemption in his father's eyes, refuses to lie to save his skin, and the corrupt justice system hangs him.

Weill and Anderson make use of a commenting chorus, allowing Weill to bifurcate his score, with the chorus numbers more musically complex than the standard Broadway vocabulary, while songs for the characters are more traditional in sound. At Encores!, the choral pieces are among the few highlights, particularly as led by the dynamic Quentin Earl Darrington, who sings gloriously and gives the chorus leader intriguing character despite the role's complete absence of dialogue. The Act 2 opener, "The Wild Justice," is a stunner, while the keening and crashing "Cry, the Beloved Country" lands with primal force, both aided by Rob Berman's stirring conducting of Weill's unusual but haunting 12-person orchestration.

What really dooms this presentation, though, is the vacuum at its center. I've seen Chuck Cooper do very fine work as an actor, and he seemed an excellent choice for Stephen. Unfortunately, he appears to have been directed to play the minister as a simple, naive, and gentle man. His performance confuses stateliness with profundity, and Cooper gives no hint of the inner turmoil and extreme anguish that lead Stephen to first question and then forcefully reject his faith. Indeed, his rendition of the title song, in which Stephen confesses to his young nephew, Alex, that he is questioning his religion, is performed like a reassuring lullaby. To express such sentiments to a child, Stephen must be deeply disturbed, but there's nary a hint of it.

Ives collaborates in this misguided approach by making an appalling edit in an Act 1 scene crucial to Stephen's complexity. When he first meets Irina, Absalom's pregnant girlfriend, Stephen tests her harshly, because she has lived with other men before Absalom. He pushes her to admit that she's a whore and would even sleep with him if he wanted her to. Ives removes the climax of this exchange, when a frightened and browbeaten Irina says timidly, "I could be willing," only to turn furiously on Stephen for forcing her into that moment. That fury convinces him she is a good woman, and he somewhat coldly apologizes for his tactics. Ives' nine-line edit makes Irina's fury unconvincing and Stephen's abrupt aboutface corny and melodramatic. It's hard to believe it was done to save time; it seems more likely the intention was to soften the character.

As Irina, Sherry Boone is hamstrung by Griffin's choice to have her sing her two solos standing in the same spot, the same light, and the same inappropriately bright yellow dress, while giving her no dramatic context or action to play. As a result, Boone pushes far too hard. Patina Miller's rendition of "Who'll Buy?" is insufficiently raunchy and gives little hint of the down-and-dirty dive the character is performing in. Faring better is Jeremy Gumbs, as Alex, who delivers a powerfully sung and seriously charming "Big Mole."

In nonsinging roles, Daniel Breaker is a rather blank Absalom, John Douglas Thompson is properly angry and cynical as Stephen's city-dwelling brother, and Daniel Gerroll is absolutely spot-on as Arthur's bigoted father, even making Anderson's final scene of reconciliation—a sop to Broadway audiences of the day—moving. (To Anderson's credit, the scene, though unlikely, is not unbelievable.)

As I left City Center, I overheard some audience members expressing heated dislike of the evening and blaming it squarely on the material. Their comments made it clear that they had never encountered "Lost in the Stars" before. I wanted to tell them, "You still haven't."



Presented by Encores! at New York City Center, 131 W. 55th St., NYC. Feb. 3–6. Thu. and Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 2 and 8 p.m.; Sun., 6:30 p.m. (212) 581-1212 or www.nycitycenter.org. Casting by Binder Casting.