By Patrick O’Brien
The last ten minutes of Black Button Eyes’s musical Mary Rose are stellar: eerily blank choreography, sepulchral lighting, and searing music and drama as a girl who hasn’t grown up clashes with a man who can’t relieve himself of his past. Hot stuff, which means the authors now have an idea as to how to warm up the rest of this misty tale. If memory serves, this is Black Button Eyes’s first original musical in its history, an adaptation of J.M. Barrie‘s play of the same name, a sort-of Peter Pan-meets-Rip van Winkle-meets Narnia scenario. An interwar-era hit in 1920, it’s been trimmed down to ninety minutes, and, of course, there are now songs. (Director Ed Rutherford on book; Jeff Bouthiette on music; both have a hand in the lyrics.) Given its wispy plot, the musical is hard to describe without risking revealing its secrets. Suffice to say: a military chaplain (Kevin Webb) takes a remote Sussex manor to escape the ravages of war, among other traumas, until he discovers it’s haunted — if “haunted” is indeed the word — by Mary Rose (Stephanie Stockstill). Her youthful visage defies all logic, as she should be decades older, if not dead already. Everything seems linked to an island out on a lake that Mary fondly remembers visiting as a child…when she can remember those visits, that is.
Going from a three-act play to a ninety-minute musical, the economizing is well done, but one suspects that this chamber piece could be turned into an even more tightly wound music box. The chaplain tees up the story, then hands over the reins to Mary as she tells her peculiar tale. Not necessarily a bad thing, but he sort of vanishes until the end when everything gets tied together, which is a shame when one has a performer like Kevin Webb — a perfomer who has the BBE spirit in his bones — at their disposal. The other characters are haunted-house-story standard: jumpy housekeeper, working stiff who daren’t approach the island of wicked lore, and so forth. Their functions are necessary, but maybe not the roles themselves.
The musical, of course, belongs to Mary Rose, and Stockstill, another BBE regular, wears the part like a fine petticoat. She trills like a nightingale, is both credibly innocent and menacing, and injects just the right amount of that old-school declamatory style without tipping into archness. For their part, in music and text, Rutherford and Bouthiette preserve both Barrie’s velvety voice and its sinister undertones. Crucial, too, as American writers adapting century-old British material, they also avoid pip-pip British-isms, at least for the most part. On one hand, Mary’s suitor has a positively charming song about falling in love with her over tea and toast. On the other hand, there’s a song about being a “tolerably good wife [leading a] tolerably good life.”
All told, Mary Rose is a worthy tale to tell, even one hundred years later. Barrie’s idée fixe on the merits and demerits of aging and therefore squaring with past trauma and mortality provides a solid base, and Rutherford and Bouthiette’s adaption give it a magic sparkle that’s in keeping with the company’s mission. With a little more time in the oven, though, it can become even firmer and hotter, and that sparkle can burn brighter. Mary Rose plays through February 12th at the Edge Theater (mainstage), 5451 N. Broadway Ave. For tickets or more information, please visit maryrosemusical.eventbrite.com. Photos by Liz Lauren. |
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