Follies

Follies has never been properly staged because of how tough the material ultimately is (though it's a damn good point to argue and probably true). Better to comment on the show at hand (which critics have already sharpened their claws on), which is a big `ol mess in so many ways but single-handedly rescued by Stephen Sondheim's impeccable gift of making magic even after so many years. The extraordinary song score of Follies hasn't dated a day, still compelling in its devastating dissection of regret and the defeat of aging. Matthew Warchus' (Art) staging leaves much to be desired visually (as does James Goldman's book, which doesn't keep as well), but in your head, it is still one of the greats, filled with possibility. And contemplating those possibilities is still a richer gift than most shows can afford.

To be fair, Warchus' production just about brims over with class. It's choreographed by the great Kathleen Marshall (who has a rare off-day with this one), orchestrated by Jonathan Tunick, and starring Blythe Danner, Judith Ivey, Gregory Harrison and Treat Williams, stage vets all. Until a very unfortunate detour into Las Vegas tackiness in Act Two (depicting "Loveland", a fantasia of the main characters), the production is elegant if detached. To its credit, Follies is one of the few productions this season that seems at all interested in rising above the norm. You will not find any crude humor or pandering references to the latest fads and fashions. If only Warchus, Marshall and the cast could cohere into one glorious package. The musical occasionally rouses (especially in Polly Bergen's wonderful rendition of "I'm Still Here," delivered with pizzazz and a touch of sadness that drives the song's thematic elements home) but too often sputters. No amount of under-imagination could ever detract from Sondheim's haunting score, however; and it doesn't happen here either.

Actually, Warchus' unfamiliarity with musicals is not such a bad thing. At times he rescues potentially maudlin interludes with his studied, darkly-laced direction. But this carefulness also prevents the musical from soaring as it should. By the end, we should put through the wringer in watching the lives of its four principal characters (played by Danner, Ivey, Harrison and Williams) fall apart and rebuild again. But the coolness makes it hard to do, and after a while, you just wish the show would let go and stop being so stately.

You can't really blame the performers, though Williams (playing Buddy) is seriously miscast here. A fine actor in the right role, he flounders with both his singing and dancing and lacks requisite force as this play's put-upon leading man. As the more composed but unloved Ben, Harrison fares better due to his smoother presence, but he doesn't get deep inside his character's self-loathing enough to register. The ladies of the evening, Danner and Ivey, seem more suited to their roles and, though neither has much musical theater experience, acquit themselves well. Additionally, both actresses are as lovely as ever (in the right light, Danner is a doppelganger for daughter Gwyneth Paltrow), and though both rely on their much-perfected tics (Danner compulsively touches her face, and Ivey loves waving her arms around), their participation is completely welcome.

So, would I recommend Follies? Honestly, I would, simply because even at its most haphazard, the show at least gives you a taste of refinement in an era that seriously needs it. Perhaps one reason the musical holds up is that, in an odd way, it has found its time again. Just as we are witnessing the demise of huge spectacle shows of yesteryear and serious drama seems to be finding its way back to us, Follies addresses such issues both on stage (as the characters reminisce about the past in entertainment) and off (as we reminisce about the past in entertainment). And the show seems to be critic-proof as well, the robust, enthusiastic applause greeted in many numbers indicates audiences want more. For all its faults, the show is indeed, still here.