Sunset Blvd. – Satire or Greek Tragedy?

The ersatz chain curtain parts to reveal young Norma Desmond (splendid Hannah Yun Chamberlain) in a serpentine dance a la Martha Graham or Jules Feiffer. Writer/hero Joe Gillis (Tom Francis) zips himself out of a body bag to narrate what lead to his death.  

Director Jamie Lloyd has not so much updated the 1993 musical Sunset Boulevard as fundamentally reimagined it through a contemporary lens – the way in which we get much of our information these days. Dispensing with set, props, and period costume leaves a black box. Handheld cameras follow protagonists while manifesting images/selfies on a 23’ screen. Without changing dialogue or lyric, the piece becomes a fisheye look at contemporary culture. Except for references to film – silent and talkie – Norma Desmond might be a has-been influencer.

Nicole Scherzinger; Hannah Yun Chamberlain (the Normas)

Nicole Scherzinger, the atomic axis on which this production turns, spends the entire show in bare feet and a silky, black slip dress. The former Pussycat Doll, now pop star, is extremely striking, in fantastic shape, moves with feline precision, and excavates songs with control, commitment, and increasing, credible hysteria. Directed to obsess and often ham to the camera, the performer compulsively examines her face or flips her hair. Audience apparently interprets behavior as camp eliciting laughter. (Not mine.)

The star is 46 years old and looks younger. Obvious beauty, sexuality, and relative youth generate a disconnect. Why has the film industry turned its back on her? Repulsion evoked by thoughts of Gloria Swanson – playing older, over-painted, and grizzled – in bed with handsome, virile William Holden (or any of their musical proxies), is nowhere to be found. What trial is it to bed your “keeper” when this is who awaits?

The Ensemble

The Hollywood “scene” in which Joe struggles is depicted by some of the show’s weakest songwriting. Dancers clad in ugly, modern, black and white streetwear (Soutra Gilmour) execute chaotic choreography (Fabian Aloise whose work for the Normas and a later tango are marvelous). They sing, despite conversing, not to each other but face forward.

Joe meets story assistant Betty Schaefer (Grace Hodgett Young – appealingly grounded). She encourages him to develop one of his early short stories into a script and offers to help. Turned down by an important producer, Joe nonetheless dismisses her. With collectors in pursuit, he drives his car into an unfamiliar, ritzy neighborhood and gets lost.

Grace Hodgett Young (Betty Schaefer)

The story goes on as written. Joe meets Norma (wearing Anna Wintour shades) and butler/enabler
Max Von Mayerling (David Thaxton), who cloister in a mansion gone to seed. Norma has completed her magnum opus, a screenplay of Salome meant for old friend, Cecil B. DeMille to direct her comeback. The hero is initially seduced by creature comforts and work – Max moves him in – then perhaps sympathy for mad Norma’s vulnerability. When the studio calls (a mistake) her visit to DeMille provokes the main song. The theater holds its collective breath. Standing ovation follows.

David Thaxton (Max Von Mayerling); Tom Francis (Joe Gillis)

Tom Francis delivers a low key performance befitting Joe’s susceptibility and cynicism. Whether due to acting, directing, or staging, we don’t, however, believe his feelings for Betty as they secretly develop his script. David Thaxton’s Max is a singular presence if less threatening than others I’ve seen. Vocals are excellent, wracked despair well played.

At the top of Act II, there’s an extremely clever, much publicized, real time video tracking of Tom Francis leaving the theater to sing up and town 44^th Street (flanked by bodyguards), further example of the allure of fame. One wonders about options during inclement weather. Joe decides to leave the mansion. Blackout. Shots. Norma pours blood all over herself, a vampiric image.

Tom Francis (Joe Gillis)

Too many recent productions are swallowed up by video, distracting rather than enhancing emotional trajectory. There’s a glut of it here, but thematically, it works. Video design and cinematography by Nathan Amzi and Joe Ransom is as effectively ominous as it gets. Sound (Adam Fisher) and lighting design  (Jack Knowles) is top notch.

Jamie Lloyd’s iconoclastic vision captures the zeitgeist. Stylized movement and expression play counter to Joe and Betty’s realism. Cameras fluently come and go without awkwardness. Whether or not this appeals depends on your tolerance for tech and devotion to original material.

Photos by Marc Brenner

Sunset Blvd.
Music – Andrew Lloyd Webber
Book/Lyrics – Don Black and Christopher Hampton
Director – Jamie Lloyd

St. James Theatre  
246 West 44^th Street