Theatre in Review: The Picture of Dorian Gray (Music Box Theatre)

	Sarah Snook. Photo: Marc Brenner

The Picture of Dorian Gray is a stunningly imaginative piece of stagecraft, brilliantly realized and meticulous in almost every detail. It should be of great interest to every LSA reader. And it is, I think, a mistake, perhaps the biggest this season has yet produced.

In Kip Williams' production, employing his adaptation of Oscar Wilde's novel, Sarah Snook plays the title character, whose apparent eternal youth hides a dark secret. She also plays everyone else. This sort of solo show is increasingly popular these days -- Eddie Izzard has made a cottage industry of doing them -- but The Picture of Dorian Gray is the polar opposite of, say, Andrew Scott's one-man Vanya now playing downtown. Indeed, the term "solo show' is a misnomer; Snook has a set of co-stars in a nimble camera crew that follows her around the Music Box stage as she narrates the story and impersonates a vast gallery of Victorian grotesques.

But, for more than ninety percent of the running time, Snook is acting for the camera, not us. Mostly, she is parked upstage, behind the large screens that video designer David Bergman has hung down front. The video wizardry is impressive, to say the least: Snook, filmed live, appears on-screen in character, joined by additional Sarah Snooks in other roles. To keep the action moving, a good chunk of the dialogue is pre-recorded, although, thanks to Clemence Williams' sound design, you will be hard-pressed to tell if the words are coming from her or a playback device. In terms of execution, the combination of technical elements is beyond reproach: The Picture of Dorian Gray is a precisely arranged ballet of leading lady, costume crew, camerapersons, and video screens, the latter of which appear in various configurations. It is never less than fascinating to see. But, as a character in the play says, "I didn't say I liked it. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference."

The problem is that all these effects erect a barrier between Snook and the audience. She is so busy rushing from one location to another, one costume to another, interacting with digital replications of herself (in a couple of cases too cutely feuding with one over who has control of the narrative), that the one essential component of theatre, the electric connection between a live actor and a live audience, is severed. For all the carefully cued onstage action, Snook could be in a room upstairs in the Music Box, far from the audience, and the effect would be the same.

It all feels especially unnecessary because Snook is formidably gifted and classically trained, her powerful vocal instrument ideally suited to the stage. Even without the assistance of video close-ups and Marg Horwell's gorgeously detailed period costumes, one imagines she could easily deliver Wilde's macabre fable. (Horwell does provide effective scenic touches, including the storeroom where Dorian hides the portrait that horrifically mirrors the effects of his sins.) As it is, she is an authoritative narrator, brilliantly morphing into, among others, the increasingly dissipated title character; Lord Henry, the hedonist who leads him astray; Basil Hallward, the artist who paints Dorian's portrait and lives to regret it, and many others. In one memorable bit, the video screen reveals a dinner table filled with bizarre Victorian types. (I particularly liked the matron who insists, "Paradoxes are all very well in their way," followed by the giggling dining partner, saying, "Dear me! You make us laugh, Lord Henry. I shall blush!")

But the production's technology too often exploits Snook's talents, putting them to increasingly cruder use. Her close-ups become more intrusive, especially in silly gags involving smartphone face apps -- the show occasionally refers to today's club culture, although not in any consistent or meaningful way -- and the amplification sometimes verges on the eardrum-shattering. The latter is especially notable in the climax, when Dorian is chased through a forest by the vengeful brother of the lover he destroyed; the music becomes so loud that even Snook is nearly drowned out. (Nick Schlieper's lighting works beautifully throughout the evening.)

The production is consistently undermined by its campy tone and too-easy jokes. (More than once, Snook winks at the audience, to show we know she's in on the joke.) The stage where the actress Sybil, who briefly captivates Dorian, performs is amusingly presented as a puppet theatre, an effect marred when Snook's relatively enormous head is inserted for a gag featuring Dorian looking up Sybil's skirt. The guests at Dorian's house party shoot up Botox while complaining about the boredom of it all. Of course, we see Dorian snorting cocaine. Williams' sound design includes Strauss waltzes, the Donna Summer classic "I Feel Love," and -- in the most random choice ever, one dictated by the script -- "Gorgeous," from Bock and Harnick's The Apple Tree.

All this gagging and cherry-picking of cultural references leaves The Picture of Dorian Gray stranded in a no-man's-land, not willing to fully embrace Wilde's wit and relish for melodrama yet incapable of offering a straight-up spoof. It wants to have it both ways without committing to anything. And its fluently rendered technology is intrusive, a massive act of upstaging. It will be interesting to see how the production's aesthetic, suited for concert touring or a museum multimedia presentation, will be received. The talk of Broadway these days is the reliance on stars and the high cost of tickets: I wonder how much theatregoers will pony up to see Sarah Snook in what is essentially a film. --David Barbour