Julie Taymor is the kind of theatrical inventor that prompts people to say things like, "She throws in everything but the kitchen sink." Well, her latest concoction (actually a revival, this was staged at the New Victory in 1996), The Green Bird, actually features a kitchen sink. And toilets. And naked women. And swing dancing. And much more, leaving one with the impression that nothing is disposable in eyes of the gifted Taymor. This is both her greatest curse and blessing. On the one hand, it tends to clutter her productions and distract from their initial intentions. On the other, it shows true virtuosity, someone willing to overthrow conventions and create something new and daring.
While jarringly uneven at times, Bird is a charming tale, and Taymor's astute wizardry carry it through, even in its lulls and more strident passages. The plot is unbelievably convoluted, even for theater sophisticates. A pair of twins (Katie MacNichol and Sebastian Roche), raised by a working-class Mom and Pop (Didi Conn and Ned Eisenberg), seek out their real birth parents after discovering they were abandoned at birth by the odious Tartagliona (Edward Hibbert), an old crone with a derriere so big you can put a drink on it, who is the mother of King Tartaglia (Derek Smith, wonderfully engaging), a nebbishy, paranoid leader. The King's beloved Queen Ninetta (Kristine Nielsen) has been relegated to live in a filthy sewer (hence the toilets) for years, and his faithful servant Pantalone (Andrew Weems, looking a little like Nathan Lane) has carried out his actions dutifully.
The plot thickens as the twins follow their own yellow-brick road as they contend with talking statues, singing apples and ballet-dancing waters. A Rastafarian soothsayer (Reg E. Cathey) presides like a Shaft-like MC, a mystical green bird guides out heroes to glory, and everything points to the requisite happy ending.
Performed in Taymor's signature puppetry and mask style, Bird is light and cheerful entertainment, though even with its childlike wonder, I'm not so sure it's an ideal show for the tykes (the word "tits" especially, pops up more often than the Green Bird does). But for mature youngsters, it could prove to be a vital example of eschewing the mainstream and appreciating something that Disney (Taymor's former employer) hasn't drenched in pastels and syrupy ballads.
The play is a little too reliant on potty humor and modern anachronisms. However amusing some of them are, they do take you out of the story on occasion. And for all its accomplished design, the production still feels disjointed, like it was being made up as they went along and maybe forgot about a few things, too (Ninetta is offstage so long at intervals you tend to forget she's even a part of the whole affair). Still, Green Bird is so enjoyable that you're willing to overlook such things, and even at its most juvenile, it is still endearing because Taymor seems to be the only director left who knows that theater existed before, oh I don't know...Cats, using influences of vaudeville and burlesque that are always welcome in an age of mechanical mayhem on Broadway.
The technical credits are superb, starting with Elliot Goldenthal's moody score (he's Taymor's offstage beau) and extending to Donald Holder's evocative lighting design and the often stunning scenic design and costumes (by Christine Jones and Constance Hoffman). I don't know if putting this on Broadway was such a good idea (even with all its invention, it still seems like it might be a hurdle getting people to see it), but it's a game try, and Taymor and company should be commended for shaking things up a bit. This Bird doesn't exactly soar, but it sure does fly nicely.
