“A Sticky Situation”
If you’re into disaster porn, a few recently opened plays
might tempt you to indulge your proclivities. Over at the Beckett you can watch
Daybreak, in which victims of the
Armenian genocide come to terms with their suffering, while at 59E59 Theaters,
where Operation Crucible is playing, you
can share the tension of four men buried under a bombed building during the
Sheffield Blitz of 1940. Then there's Time's Journey through a Room at A.R.T./New York Theatres, which takes us to Japan a year after the 2011 Fukushima earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear meltdown. Nor can we ignore Tremor, another 59E59 offering, in which a couple tries to heal following a bus crash with multiple fatalities. |
| Anie Delgado, Grace Experience, Lianne Gennaco. Photo: Ryan Krukowski. |
Yes, the Great Molasses Flood of 1919, which was a very real
thing. Unfortunately, the show that takes its name from it is, in artistic
terms, a disaster of its own. On the positive side, it hasn’t killed or injured
anyone, nor has it damaged any property. Moreover, judging from the cheesiness
of its production values, it doesn’t carry a huge price tag, nor is it likely
to inspire many lawsuits. On the negative side, well . . . where does one
begin?
The aforementioned molasses spill occurred in Boston’s North
End on January 15, 1919, when over two million gallons of the goo, which had
multiple purposes, including the production of explosives and alcohol, burst into
the streets from a poorly constructed tank.
Pellegrino, rather than getting into the weeds about the
actual disaster and its consequences, chooses instead to tell a banal, clichéd,
pre-spill, laugh-an-hour story about a stereotypical Italian-American family of three: Anna (Lianne Gennaco, who resembles Emma Watson and sings in a sweet but thin
soprano), a pretty, single mother, and her two kids, living in the North End during
the chaos of World War I.
Anarchists, labor organizers, sweatshops anti-Italian
bigots, and the like are mixed in with romantic and marital issues, which begin
in 1915, with occasional foreshadowing references to the molasses tank and its
potential weakness.
About six or seven minutes before the show ends, we learn of
the tank’s bursting, which creates a brief flurry of excitement, and of a
secondary character’s death. A few facts about the aftermath are delivered by a
Narrator (Joe Redman) but you’ll probably want to know more about this catastrophe, which is far more interesting than the show, and which you can read about by clicking
here. A good show lies stuck somewhere in the story, struggling to get out, but Molasses in January isn’t it.
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| Anie Delgado, Daniel Artuso. Photo: Ryan Krukowski. |
This is a standard book musical, “done,”
according to its press material, “in the traditional musical style of the great
American Song Book” (if only). Most of its versatility-challenged nine actors
play several roles, including grown actors (Zachary Harris Martin and Anie
Delgado) playing children who look as old as their mother. Several cast members
have basic dance skills, seen when they perform routines by director-choreographer
Whitney Stone on the level of what you might witness at the annual recital of
your kid’s neighborhood dance school.
The set, functionally lit by
Christina Verde, is an ugly, uncredited combination of brown sheets hung over
portions of what seems to be the Bernstein’s permanent arrangement (I’ve seen
it there before) of walls and doors, with center steps. The arrangement makes
it impossible to tell where any scene is set, inside or out. [A colleague subsequently pointed out to me that the disguised set is the one used for Perfect Crime, the long-running Off-Broadway show that is currently sharing the space with Molasses in January.]
When, at one moment, one of the sheets
is removed to reveal a furnace awkwardly painted on a white sheet (the actors
dutifully mime shoveling coal into it), the ridiculousness of the visuals becomes
even more apparent. Little better are the uncredited costumes, which include a
stovepipe hat and a Bobby-type helmet that look like they come from a party
goods store.
Surprisingly, though, the 90-minute, one-intermission show’s
promotional video, accessible here,
reveals a more appropriate—if clearly low-budget—setting, with some of the same
actors but including actual children in the company. I wish I knew what happened
along the way from wherever that production was given (if anywhere) before it landed in New York. [I've also learned that the show had a workshop at the Davenport Theatre, on W. 45th Street, which would seem to be where the video was shot.]
What the video displays, however, while still exposing
problems in the show’s generic, single piano-accompanied music and lyrics, is
far superior to the eye roll-inducing show on W. 50th Street.
Early in the show, Anna discards a hanky by tossing it over
her shoulder. The night I went it landed on a lighting instrument over the
low-ceilinged stage. Not a single actor bothered to pull it down (despite its
possible catching fire) and no one did anything about it until toward the end
of the intermission, when a stagehand finally retrieved it. This kind of hanky
panky epitomized the dilettantism oozing like molasses from every pore of this gloppy production.
OTHER VIEWPOINTS:
Anne L. Bernstein Theater
210 W. 50th St., NYC
Open run
