The Barber of Weak Street
By CRYSTAL K. WIEBE
Seeing the movie Sweeney Todd before seeing the theatrical production now playing at the Music Hall is a bad idea. Especially if you’re a shallow person. True, the slew of Broadway actors who make up the traveling cast are way more talented than their Hollywood counterparts. In addition to singing and acting, every member of the theater cast plays an instrument – and plays it well! But they’re not very much fun to look at. And when you’re watching people engage in such demented activities as throat-slitting and cannibalism for two hours, it helps if they look like Johnny Depp.
If you enjoyed Tim Burton’s lush-but-dreary take on the story, the scaled back theatrical version seems dry. Because every member of the cast is necessary for the songs, they still plod around on stage after they’re dead. They tromp among odd elements on the set, including two coffins that don’t quite make sense in the middle of a barbershop/restaurant. Then there’s the high-pitched blast that issues at 10 billion decibels through the loudspeakers every time someone gets sliced. When that happens, you feel like your eardrums have been stabbed.
Even though there are operatic songs about dining on human flesh, blood oddly seems at a premium in the play version. What, is fake blood up to $100 a barrel now, too? Instead of, say, a little ketchup after the cast members are symbolically dispatched by the Barber of Fleet Street, they stand up and struggle to put on red-stained lab coats. That’s just a bit distracting when there’s new action taking place onstage.
Judy Kaye does make a much better Mrs. Lovett than Tim Burton’s wife, Helena Bonham Carter. Kaye played the role a few times on Broadway. She’s fun and mean, a strong Mrs. Lovett who’s more overtly sexual and playful. With her full figure, fishnets, short dress and sass, she comes across a bit like Karen from Will and Grace, whereas Carter’s Mrs. Lovett is so pathetic that you actually feel bad when she dies, which probably wasn’t Stephen Sondheim’s intention. One problem with the theatrical version, however: Minutes after Kaye’s version died, we see her standing around in a lab coat like everyone else.
And there is a people-watching element that comes with any trip to the playhouse. Last night, one of the bartenders was an old man whose name tag read “Wimp,” which he said was his nickname from 1961. At the intermission, we ran into Star gossip columnist Hearne Christopher, who admitted that he’d been more preoccupied with what was going on in the New Hampshire primary than whether Benjamin Barker was getting his revenge. It’s understandable, because there’s more of a chance of seeing blood splatter in the tight competition between Barack and Hillary.
