I was expecting to see a great show, to come in out of the chill of a January evening in New York, and spend a few hours in the balmy South Pacific. What I didn’t expect was to be so moved and affected that I couldn’t get the show out of my mind. The next day, I checked out of our local library Tales of the South Pacific, The James A. Michener Pulitzer Prize winner in 1948. I wanted to dig deeper into the story.
This is a wonderful production. The painted ocean in the background, the bamboo set, the gloriously lit sunset, all serve to spirit us away from Lincoln Center and into a different time and place.
The extraordinary performances now being given definitely contribute something special to this show. Laura Osnes is not just “Knucklehead Nellie.” The gusto and joy she brings to “A Wonderful Guy” is palpable. But this Nellie Forbush is also wistful with yearning for a life outside the strictures of Little Rock, A-R-K. She’s strong and determined, and almost convinces us when she declares “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair.” There is a gravitas that lets us believe that she can overcome her carefully taught prejudices, and be at home on the other side of the world. If I have a criticism, it’s only that her adorable pink swimsuit should be cut higher. Osnes is in great shape, and her twenty-first century killer abs take us out of the 1940’s for a moment. The same must be said of Joe Cable. Nobody had a washboard stomach during that time frame.
Danny Burstein won a Tony Award for playing Luther Billis, and it’s a rare treat that we can still see him in the role. Burstein approaches every performance as if it’s the first time; there’s not an iota of “ho hum” in his makeup. Without losing any of the humor associated with the role, Burstein gives us a window into the man’s soul. He makes us feel that stripped of the heavy chains, tattoos, and get rich quick schemes, in a different reality, he would be a tender and ardent lover. This story would be about him, and how he managed to survive and thrive in an impossibly difficult situation. Burstein is that all too rare individual, on or off stage, who really knows how to listen. We observe him intently watching Lieutenant Cable to discern exactly the moment the young officer is hooked on “Bali Ha’i.”
Special praise must also be given to Loretta Ables Sayre, whose Bloody Mary is part harpy, part Earth Mother. We now live in a society, please God, where the stereotype of the ridiculous, money grubbing native is no longer particularly amusing. Sayre’s performance brings to mind Shylock rather than Amos ‘n’ Andy. She is doing what she must to provide the best existence possible for herself and her daughter, Liat.
It’s hard to believe there’s ever been a lovelier actress than Li Jun Li in the role of this delicate Island flower who is not afraid…afraid…not afraid of the wild passion that consumes her and her American Navy officer. Why does Bloody Mary provide her own innocent young daughter to the soldier? Because she knows instinctively that they should be together. We understand. And the fact that she’s got a big, powerful voice she employs to paint an image of an existence composed entirely of “Happy Talk”, just adds to her ability to involve us in her scheme.
The cast, the lighting, the costumes, the scenery, it all adds up to a wonderful evening of theater. And yet, there’s more. The score itself is deeply evocative. Those first few notes of “Bali Ha’i” fill those of us from an older generation with the same sort of soul lifting anticipation as the Star Wars premiere chord of today. Part of the stage retracts to reveal an impressive thirty piece orchestra, an almost unheard of extravagance these days, but an absolute necessary for the full, lush sound needed for the score.
The songs themselves are iconic. How many people have romanced and fantasized to “Some Enchanted Evening”? Who doesn’t relate to the heartache of “This Nearly Was Mine”? How many proud parents have sat through talent shows and applauded young girls in sailor suits singing “Honey Bun”? How many of us have driven our cars, cleaned our houses, cooked dinner and done countless other tedious chores while being transported to an exotic, romantic locale by this music?
But then, there is still more. There is the neighbor we met in the lobby, who told of us a buddy who’d been “on Tarawa.” There is my college roommate, who proudly showed off the cape her mom had worn as a Navy nurse, and told the tale of the bad girl who’d been the talk of the barracks, but when she came home, “she had her mink.” There’s my husband’s memory of his blond, baby-faced uncle, who joined the service not to see the world, but for the promise of three meals a day. We are, very likely, the last generation to see this show who will be able to effortlessly recall the stories of what was fought for, and hard won, in World War Two; the stories we were told as kids.
This musical is uniquely, sadly in tune with our time. Every Sunday, the ABC-TV show This Week features a posting of the soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. It is no rare occurrence to encounter someone whose son or daughter is in a war zone overseas. We debate endlessly about what constitutes a just war, a righteous cause. And there is the nagging suspicion that much of the invective directed at Barack Obama is not just because of his politics and policies, but because many people are still uncomfortable with the reality of having a man of color serve as Commander In Chief. After all, many people are still being “carefully taught.”
The show ends as it begins, with a curtain upon which is printed a message. We leave the theater having read these all too prophetic words from the novel, “They will live a long time, these men of the South Pacific. They had an American quality. They, like their victories, will be remembered as long as our generation lives. After that, like the men of the Confederacy, they will become strangers. Longer and Longer shadows will obscure them, until their Guadalcanal sounds distant on the ear like Shiloh and Valley Forge.”
True, but not yet. Not as long as when the lights come up, many of us in the audience are wiping our eyes, slowly and somewhat unwillingly leaving Nellie, Emile, Joe, Liat, and Bloody Mary somewhere long ago, on a far away island in the South Pacific.
All photos Joan Marcus
