On the face of American musicals, there is no partnership that has had a greater effect than Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. With the ground-breaking and hugely successful "Oklahoma!," Rodgers and Hammerstein, who began their collaborative efforts in the '40s, wrote musicals in a way that has since often been copied and has rarely, if ever, been eclipsed. Of their vast repertoire, which includes such classics as "The Sound of Music," "The King and I" and "South Pacific," perhaps no other musical approaches its story with the incredible darkness and seriousness as "Carousel."
It is this darkness, something that the general perception of musicals as cheery and happy-go-lucky fundamentally contradicts, that makes a production of "Carousel" so difficult. How do you tactfully deal with the issues of violent love, self-incrimination and ultimately repression in a genre that is whole-heartedly rewarded for cream-puff storylines and catchy, but painfully simple tunes? How do you inspire sympathy for a main character that beats his wife, lives with disrespect for the law and has trouble learning from his mistakes?
These questions are answered by the Royal National Theater's production of "Carousel," now playing at the newly renovated Detroit Opera House. This production answers, simply, with passion.
Patrick Wilson, who plays the enigmatic Billy Bigelow, delivers his role with such brilliant honesty, without glossing over the rather ugly aspects to his personality, that it is difficult to see him as anything other than a complex and very human character. So we forgive the play for the presence of his faults, even if we do not agree with Billy's outbursts.
This point is difficult to underscore without some knowledge of the American musical. While oftentimes resented, complex characters are the exception, not the rule. Wilson's performance, as it must be, is powerful, but it only serves to draw out the genius that is this musical.
Nothing illustrates this more than the ballet sequence that occurs after Billy returns from heaven to witness the life of his daughter, Louise (Dana Stackpole). The point of this scene is to underscore the fact that Billy's legacy has doomed Louise to a life similar to the wife he left behind, abused and miserable. Without dialogue, what follows is a sequence where Louise's only friends (a decidedly rough crowd) grope her, get chased off by a dark and dangerous stranger who in turn woos Louise, only to leave her, bitter and defeated. Stackpole so gracefully led this sequence that the tragedy of her experience came across clearly, further illustrating the tragic demeanor of this play.
The role of Julie Jordan, as played by Sarah Uriarte, at times could be seen as submissive, which nowadays would be controversial. She frequently defended her husband, who beat her, and his character, even after he is killed during an attempted robbery. Her patience and devotion, however, were meant to be, even in the face of controversy, virtues. These virtues also added poignancy to Julie, reassuring her daughter that it was not possible to be hit hard by someone and not feel pain.
The complexity of "Carousel" and its utter dark edges give it a particularly contemporary feel. Yet, despite our ability to handle such material, this maturity for a musical still represents quite a bit of risk. Shrugging off the dangers, director Nicholas Hytner handled the tremendous difficulties of "Carousel" and delivered a rousing and extremely moving production. Much like the final picturesque scene where Billy ascends to heaven, this production ascends itself to a realm reserved only for higher art.
"It's a bird, it's a plane, no, it's the audience."