LOS
ANGELES TIMES
January
23, 2004
THEATER
REVIEW
The airy fairy tale set in old Baghdad may be a guilty
pleasure during wartime, but a knockout Reprise! cast and band are able to pull
it off.
By Rob Kendt
How
guilty a pleasure is the glitteringly absurd, lushly Orientalist 1950s musical
"Kismet"? That will depend on your stomach for a back-dated vision of
Arab culture in hoochie-koochie Western drag--set in the heart of ancient
Baghdad, no less.
Yes,
this is a virtual Vegas on the Gulf where, as the saucy wife of the town's top
cop sings, "Our palaces are gaudier/Our alleyways are bawdier," where
decolletage is de rigeur and where said local enforcer gets to mince through a
bouncy number celebrating his reputation for torture and dismemberment on the
slightest whim.
It's
not quite "Springtime for Hitler," but it's safe to say that
"Kismet" is unlikely to get a politically correct makeover a la David
Henry Hwang's revised "Flower Drum Song" any time soon.
The
new short-run concert revival by Reprise! wisely doesn't bother with such
tweaking; instead it's an unabashed time capsule with the temerity to take this
stuff straight and keep it gay, so to speak. And it has the knockout cast and
band to pull it off.
As
usual with Reprise!, director Arthur Allan Seidelman has mounted something just
shy of a fully staged and costumed production, with a lithe, rippling cast
shimmying winningly through Rob Barron's brassy, jiggly choreography and music
director Gerald Sternbach leading a flawless ensemble of players and singers
through the paces of Robert Wright and George Forrest's Borodin-based score.
(The hit was "Stranger in Paradise.")
As
the scheming, slick-talking poet Hajj, Broadway veteran Len Cariou sweats a bit
to keep up, and his still-recognizable baritone has lost some of its traction,
but give him a stage and a spot and this guy can still work magic, as in his
soliloquy "The Olive Tree" or his tent-revival pitch
"Gesticulate."
As
his scampering daughter Marsinah, who has the good fortune to find love in high
places, Caryn E. Kaplan is almost impossibly sunny and earnestly cute, like an
animated Disney heroine come to life, and she beautiflly nails her role's
operetta-like vocal demands.
Similarly
suggesting a live cartoon, though in his case something closer to a bottle imp,
is Jason Graae as the petulant potentate, the Wazir. Few performers can ooze
irony with so little winking, as when he praises "subtlety, always
subtlety," or when he registers a bottomless deadpan after delivering the
line "Why, Baghdad is the symbol of happiness on earth!"
As
the lovesick Caliph, Anthony Crivello is effortlessly sweet and sincere, with a
light touch on both his big moments and his high notes that's all the more
effectively suave.
But
surely the best reason to see this "Kismet" is Jennifer Leigh
Warren's gimlet-eyed Lalume, the Wazir's "wife of wives," who has
little to do but sashay about and offer occasional odes to the pleasures of the
city and its signature dish, the aphrodisiac "Rahadlakum." She's a
woman of luxury, and Warren luxuriates in her deliciously. In an eye-scarring
green costume that fairly glows under Tom Ruzika's lights, Warren is given the
show's creakiest, flimsiest material (admittedly, there's some stiff
competition), and she milks it for all its worth.
Just
how much is that, exactly? Does this faux-Arabian warhorse really deserve
another run around the track? Perhaps such exoticism is bound to feel a little
guilty in a time of war, particularly when we've got boots on the very ground
where this airy fairy tale purports to take place.
But
when our ingenue emerges near play's end in a bejewelled bridal bikini and not
even the cover of a veil, and the chorus smilingly lauds such nuptial
necessities as "peacocks and monkeys and purple adornings," we've gone
well past escapism into an alternate universe of kitsch so thick it's almost
pointless to take offense.
If
Iraq-with-a-rack sounds like your cup of Rahadlakum, this "Kismet"
will have you drunk with joy.
"Kismet," Reprise! Broadway's Best at the UCLA
Freud Playhouse, Macgowan Hall. Tuesdays-Fridays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays, 2 p.m.
& 8 p.m.; Sundays, 2 p.m. & 7 p.m. $55-65. (310) 825-2101. Running
time: 2 hours, 35 minutes.