Theatre Review by Matthew Murray - November 8, 2012
Annie Book by Thomas Meehan. Music by Charles Strouse. Lyrics by Martin Charnin. Based on the comic strip Little Orphan Annie by Harold Gray. Annie and Little Orphan Annie used by permission of Tribune Media Services, Inc. Directed by James Lapine. Choreography by Andy Blankenbuehler. Scenic design by David Korins. Costume design by Susan Hilferty. Lighting design by Donald Holder. Sound design by Brian Ronan. Projection design by Wendall K. Harrington. Hair design by Tom Watson. Animal Trainer William Berloni. Orchestrations by Michael Starobin. Cast: Katie Finneran, Anthony Warlow, and Lilla Crawford, with Brynn OMalley, Clarke Thorell, J. Elaine Marcos, and Madi Rae DiPietro, Georgi James, Junah Jang, Tyrah Skye Odoms, Taylor Richardson, Emily Rosenfeld, Jaidyn Young, Ashley Blanchet, Jane Blass, Jeremy Davis, Merwin Foard, Joel Hatch, Fred Inkley, Amanda Lea LaVergne, Gavin Lodge, Liz McCartney, Desi Oakley, Keven Quillon, David Rossetti, Sarah Solie, Dennis Stowe, Ryan VanDenBoom.
Had you told me before this mounting that this show could be stiff, stolid, and above all joyless, I frankly would have laughed at you. It has a (not entirely undeserved) reputation as a kid magnet, but Meehan's savvy book charting the love affair of a little orphan girl with the billionaire Oliver Warbucks during the Great Depression has real feelings and real social bite that are only amplified by Charnin's firm lyrics and Strouse's addictively bouncy music. Any musical that convincingly contains the anthem "Tomorrow," deeply sensitive songs about love and loss, and high-octane toe-tappers about Herbert Hoover alongside repudiations of the parent-free life, paeans to consumerism, and even a New York lovefest number must be taken seriously.
Yet that is precisely what Lapine, who's helmed tuners as diverse as Sunday in the Park with George, Amour, and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, has failed to do. Because he hasn't decided what point of view this Annie should be, it ends up not having one. No musical can exist without spirit, and one such as this, that thrives on optimism, has the hardest slog of all when that essential quality is as absent as it is here.
The trouble begins immediately, when the overture is interrupted to display a newsreel (projected against a "screen" of laundry as if hanging outside a tenement) setting the desperate 1933 eraand wastefully imparting information that, in case the viewer doesn't already know it, is imparted later in dialogue anyway. Already we don't know whether we're supposed to have fun or supposed to be ready to sob at a moment's notice.
Things don't improve once we're introduced to Annie (Lilla Crawford) and her friends, who are all languishing under the ministrations of their matron Miss Hannigan. Considering Annie is introduced to us with "Maybe," in which she dreams of the parents she's never known, and all the girls are a couple of additional minutes away from singing "It's a Hard Knock Life," they're in remarkably high spirits. And though Miss Hannigan herself is supposed to always be doused in them herself, to the point of hilarity, as played by Katie Finneran with the same woozy shtick she somehow rode to a Tony in Promises, Promises, she comes across as at best buzzedat that more by plot necessity than the flask of whiskey she constantly swigs from.
Problems keep cropping up: Why does the "Tomorrow" reprise for FDR (Merwin Foard) and his cabinet play broad comedy on the first sing-through, even inserting a painfully strained Al Jolson reference, rather than the more obviously vaudevillian built-in reprise? Why does Crawford look prettier and more elegant in her rags and natural hairstyle than after costume designer Susan Hilferty has outfitted her in the character's trademark red dress and wig? And why, oh why, couldn't Korins have sprung for a real Christmas treeor even something that believably looks like onefor the final scene where exactly that atmosphere is so critical?
This Annie is what the show, above all else, should not be: distractingly cynical. Although, it should be mentioned, not of the Roaring 1920s economics reportedly responsible for ushering in its plotthat's baked in. No, it assumes, even more than the workmanlike 1997 revival, that a coherent presentation, a compelling style and look, and even thoughtful orchestrations are not noteworthy parts of the theatre experience. (Michael Starobin's poorly cut-down charts, replacing Philip J. Lang's superb and humorous originals, fight every vocalist at every turn.) And, true, the chances are that most audiences won't care.
I suspect, however, that they will notice how many laughs Finneran blows (pretty much all of them). And how Crawford, blandly appealing if never naturally spunky, screeches through her songs with a shrill technique that should terrify her singing teacher, and doesn't tap into the heartache so central to the character. And how Andy Blankenbuehler's choreography is so confused that, despite being injected into far too many unnecessary places (the finale, now a bewildering tap extravaganza, is the prime example), it exhibits neither artistic nor entertainment-focused life.
A few things shine brightly. Australian stage superstar Anthony Warlow, making his Broadway debut, is pretty much perfect as Warbucks, singing like a dream and finding a captivating balance between hard-upbringing bluster and affection that's been waiting for its ideal outlet. Thorell, if perhaps not quite as broad as an actor playing Rooster should be, blazes through his every scene and song with an admirable conviction most other actors onstage lack. Sunny, playing the dog Sandy, is adorable. And the rest of the orphan corps (Emily Rosenfeld, Georgi James, Taylor Richardson, Madi Rae DiPietro, Junah Jang, and Tyrah Skye Odoms) is charming.
That's what the show itself should be, but this one never is. Given that its story ponders a country in the midst of financial meltdown, pondering an uncertain future and the government's responsibility (if any) in buying our way out of it at any cost, Annie should resonate within the hearts and minds of all who see it. While you're watching Lapine's treatment, however, you'll be left doubting whether, in fact, the sun will come out tomorrowor, for that matter, ever again.