Glenn Close as Norma Desmond
Photo: Joan Marcus
Horrifying, monstrous and grotesque were words I used at the time to
describe “Sunset Boulevard” Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 1994 musical version of Billy
Wilder’s brilliantly sardonic 1950 film about Joe Gillis, a young struggling
Hollywood screenwriter who becomes the gigolo of an older retired silent screen
star. Although it starred Glenn Close as the delusional Norma Desmond and who
would win the Tony Award for her stunning performance, the real star of the
show was the mammoth setting by John Napier that rose on a hydraulic lift from
the depths of the Minskoff Theatre to depict the awesome castle-like mansion
wherein much of the action would take place.
That setting is no longer back to awe us in the comparatively
scaled down and newly envisioned production designed by James Noone and
directed by Lonny Price at the Palace Theatre. We are being treated to a forty-piece
orchestra that is perched prominently on
the stage where only a few set pieces and lots of flashy projections create the
illusions needed to reaffirm that it is Close’s mesmerizing performance and Webber’s
grandiose, if a bit soggy, score that makes the show even modestly worthwhile.
Although patently lifted from the pungent and witty original
screenplay, the familiar book (and new lyrics) by Don Black and Christopher
Hampton simply refuses to resonate responsibly within what was and still is a
phony and facetious frame. As was the case with the original production, such equally
important settings for Schwab’s drugstore and the lot at Paramount Studios are
even more relegated to insignificance. This is, for all the instrumental
support and expert lighting by Mark Henderson, a gussied up staged reading, an
unfortunate continuation of a trend for giving the audience less of a production
for more bucks.
No actress, not even a good one who can carry and sustain a
vocal line with gravitas as Close more or less does, should be subjected to
makeup and hair-design to rival anything from a horror movie. Close also wears
that same collection of preposterous costumes by Anthony Powell that no self-respecting
transvestite would be caught wearing. To her credit, Close fearlessly takes the
dotty Norma Desmond ’s eccentrics, as she did before, into a realm of pure and
unadulterated dementia.
There is commendable stint in the musical by Fred Johanson, as
the stiff Teutonic butler and ex-husband Max. Speaking of a dead stiff, Norma’s
lover Joe is played rather well as well by good-looking, body-crafted Michael
Xavier. Tracy Christensen plays his lover Betty who, as we know, doesn’t stand
a chance in hell against Norma. As you must recall, Joe tells the whole macabre
story while floating face down in a pool...glug glug.
I would like to remind theatre-goers that Betty Buckley
replaced Close a year into the run and showed us what really great singing voice
could do with the score’s soaring demands. Her acting was pretty terrific as
well. Close, however, reminds us twenty three years later of how brilliantly
she is still able to entrap us in that place where a pierced soul heart must
learn to abide with a disintegrating heart. If that grim manse is no longer a
showplace, it remains an impressive showcase for Close.
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