Rob Evan

In the twenty years since it debuted on Broadway, the musical powerhouse Les Misérables has been both passionately beloved and relentlessly mocked (Forbidden Broadway once dubbed it "the Victor Hugo ride").

Still, this poperetta juggernaut didn't run 16 years on Broadway for nothing. Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg's adaptation of Hugo's epic novel about the French Revolution has it all—sweeping music that instantly sticks in your head and clutches at your heart, an engrossing story steeped in suspense and romance, and a fascinating array of sympathetic characters.

Watching a new cast animate the story yet again (in the Theater of the Stars' rousing production at Atlanta's Fox Theatre), I was also struck by what a definitive brand the show has become. Even those with only a passing interest in musical theater are familiar with Les Miz, as it is affectionately known by its devotees, and will recognize its enigmatic logo of a young French girl and her desperate, hopeful eyes.

So yes, the show has indeed become something of a ride—the same story presented in carbon-copy productions, again and again, the world over.

But what better way to introduce audiences to the magic of musical theater than through this evocative story with its majestic melodies? We could do much worse, and as it so happens, we actually are doing much, much worse on Broadway right now.

Coincidentally, I reviewed the new Broadway adaptation of Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities the week before revisiting Les Miz, and Two Cities is struggling to emulate everything that made Les Miz a box-office smash (right down to its revolutionary rumblings and pop-influenced ballads). But you can't replicate the genius of Les Miz if you don't have a score that sinks into the audience's bones the first time they hear it. A jumbled mess like Two Cities only enhances the undeniable strengths of Les Miz, which has endured not just because it is popular, but because it is, at its core, a great piece of theater.

For the uninitiated, Les Miz centers on Jean Valjean, a Frenchman who is sent to prison for stealing a piece of bread to save his sister's son from starvation. After serving 20 years in prison, he escapes and begins a new life, becoming a savior to the poor and an arbiter of justice. He befriends Fantine, a dying prostitute, and rescues her daughter Cosette to raise as his own. But his past catches up to him in the form of Javert, the diabolical police officer obsessed with tracking him down. The story is also propelled by a love triangle between Cosette, the young student Marius and Eponine, who grew up in the same poor household with Cosette but was left behind to endure it on her own. Ultimately, these stories are threaded together and then detonated in the midst of a student uprising, led by the charismatic Enjolras, which presaged the French Revolution.

Nimbly directed by Fred Hanson, this production brings together the requisite high drama, threadbare costumes and rickety barricades that are demanded of any production of Les Miz, but the standout—and star—here is the dazzling music, which is given lovely nuance and shape by music director Dan Riddle and superbly performed by the dynamic cast and excellent orchestra.

For in Les Miz, the music really is the thing, defining characters quickly and crisply, from the menacing sneers of Javert to the husky laments of Fantine. Rob Evan (Valjean) and Rob Hunt (Javert) make excellent foils for one another; Hunt, in particular, offers a commanding, refreshingly dimensional performance as the menacing officer. As the tortured Fantine, Nikki Renee Daniels presents a soaring, vocally rich rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream," and Edward Watts nearly steals the show (and the revolution) with his riveting performance as Enjolras, leading the company in an especially stirring chorus of "Do You Hear the People Sing?"

Jenny Fellner brings an excellent tomboyish energy to the woe-is-me Eponine, and she manages to find new life in the much-performed ballad "On My Own," infusing it with hope instead of miring it in self-pity. She also joins Deborah Lew (Cosette) and Anderson Davis (Marius) on an exquisitely textured performance of the trio "A Heart Full of Love."

As the besotted Marius, Davis is endearingly clumsy when he first meets Cosette, but by act two, after the horrors of battle, he seamlessly transforms into a grave young man. His haunting performance of "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" is one of the show's most riveting moments—a timely, terrifying reminder of the effects of war on the people who survive it.

Only the raucous, bawdy "Master of the House" (sung by the Thenardiers, bartenders and former guardians of Cosette) seems a bit limp in this production; it sags, weighed down by comic timing that just misses its mark and aggressive acting that is more fatiguing than fascinating to watch.

Still, the production consistently whirls to life thanks to the hardworking, enthusiastic ensemble. The Broadway production was famous for its turntable, which spun the set to create different scenes and moods; here, the ensemble creates something of the same effect, rushing on and off the stage to call up a variety of locations.

But the location that matters most in this production is its splendid position within Atlanta's magnificent Fox Theatre, where the gleaming golden decor whisks you away from the real world into something more splendid. As Rob Hunt delivered a superb performance of Javert's ballad "Stars," I followed his gaze up to the Fox's ceiling, which is illuminated in blue and dotted with twinkling stars. This might have been Les Miz yet again, but it was a Misérables that audiences had never seen before.

Les Misérables at the Fox Theatre closed on September 28.

Photo: Joan Marcus

-- Amy Krivohlavek