Theatre in Review: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button/Triumph (Public Theater)

	Kelsee Kimmel, Andrew Durand. Photo: Joan Marcus

There's nothing like a musical that knows what it is about, has a style all its own, and a knack for storytelling, qualities that sometimes seem vanishingly rare these days. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button wants to charm you, seduce you with music, and break your heart, and darn if it doesn't do all three. Unlike so many shows enslaved to their source materials, this is a fresh, independent-minded entertainment created by artists who can't be bothered with formulas.

As you probably know, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button> rests on the fantastic notion of the title character, born an old man (complete with glasses, cane, and a taste for tobacco), who ages backwards over many decades, approaching the grave in swaddling clothes. This bizarre inversion of nature disturbs those who would love him, often forcing him to travel a solitary road in life. The F. Scott Fitzgerald story of the same name, set in Baltimore, is a macabre joke about upper-middle-class propriety. David Fincher's 2008 film, which moves in and out of New Orleans, is a sweeping romantic epic, featuring Brad Pitt and a lot of makeup.

The musical, with book and lyrics by Jethro Compton and music and lyrics by Darren Clark, borrows only Fitzgerald's premise to spin a tale of the Cornish coast, set to a score in an English folk idiom, delivered by a gifted company of actor-musicians. It begins in 1918, takes in the Second World War, and climaxes around the night Neil Armstrong lands on the Moon. It fully embraces Benjamin's bizarre situation to tell a tale of loneliness, missed connections, a community's fate, and the astonishing, sustaining power of love.

As in the original, Benjamin's birth is greeted with shock and horror; indeed, his distressed mother soon throws herself off a cliff. His bitterly resentful father, Roger, keeps him locked up in an upstairs room, barely acknowledging his existence. Benjamin, like everyone else, assumes he is near death, but, to his surprise, the passing years only increase his youth and vigor. As a boy with the body of a middle-aged man, he starts secretly stepping out to the local pub, where he falls for Elowen, the barmaid, who thinks fifty-five is the perfect age for a man. When she and Benjamin, constrained by circumstance and the stifling nature of village life, each decide to strike out for freedom, they end up separated, thanks to the malicious interference of their parents, setting off the saga of two lifetimes punctuated by reunions and separation. And it isn't until Benjamin and Elowen, at long last married with children, face an unexpected tragedy that the truth about him finally comes out.

Clark's melodies come in waves, illuminating Benjamin's strange predicament and the deep love that binds him to Elowen even when parted across continents. A prologue, detailing Benjamin's birth, strikes an appropriately mystical/melancholy tone, noting, "On that fateful night/By the full moon's force/The law of time an' tide/For a time changed course." Benjamin's first ballad, "A Little Life," poignantly details his yearning for freedom, a bit of fun, and a little human contact. "The Moon and the Sea" deftly weaves a metaphor to express the growing attraction between Benjamin and Elowen. "The Tide is Comin' In" fills us in on Benjamin's years of domestic happiness, based on a lie, ending in irretrievable loss. Many of the songs act as narrative devices, driving the story across time and space, reporting on the seemingly random events that often have consequential results for Benjamin and Elowen.

Staged by Compton on a set (designed by him) to resemble a weathered wharf and aided by Chi-San Howard's vigorous, foot-stomping choreography, The Curious Case of Benjamin unfolds as inevitably as the rolling of the tide, the ticking of the clock. Andrew Durand, increasingly the go-to guy for quirky musical theatre leads, informs Benjamin with such delicacy and an undertone of regret that one can't help wanting him to find some happiness. Kelsee Kimmel's staunch, commonsensical Elowen provides him with a strong opposite number, making it easy to believe their affection can survive many twists of fate. They are strongly supported by Brandon J. Ellis as Roger, who discovers a moment of paternal satisfaction just this side of the grave; Morgan Morse as Benjamin's companion in seagoing travel and war; and Kris Saint-Louis as Benjamin and Elowen's son, who must learn to bury his resentments and care for his increasingly youthening father.

Compton's set is constantly reshaped by Zoe Spurr's bold lighting compositions, which pick out principal characters and chorus tableaux with precision. Anna Kelsey's costumes strike a timeless note that suits the narrative. The sound design, by Luke Swaffield for Autograph Sound, is generally admirably clear, delivering evocative effects, including seagulls, surf, wind, and, in the heat of battle, strafing from German aircraft.

Occasional missteps occur, especially in the first-act sequence, "A Matter of Time," which delivers some possibly unnecessary exposition in muddied fashion. (A partner sequence in the second act works much better.) Also, the lyrics' plainspoken poetry can get a little tongue-tied, for example, when trying to rhyme "saucer" with "divorce her." But Compton and Clark work wonders in transforming Benjamin's strange fate into something relatable: His struggle against the vagaries of time is, in the end, not unlike our own, and his heartsick dilemma is that of any outsider trying to find a place in an uncomprehending community. It's been some time since a musical has made such a bold claim on our emotions. As it happens, its grip is powerful, and it never lets go.

Also: The Public is presenting free performances of Triumph, a brief (twenty minutes or so) but savage cartoon by the evergreen provocateur Caryl Churchill. Set in a world that crosses ancient Rome with today, it stars Annaleigh Ashford as a government-sanctioned news presenter, delivering reports on the latest official atrocities (including executions, mutilations, and rape) with the good cheer of a lifer on Fox News or Newsmax. (All of them are drawn from Suetonius' accounts of the Roman Empire.) Trouble sets in when she falls for a real journalist (played by her real-life husband, Joe Tapper). At first, their relationship consists of titillatingly dangerous games, including him administering oral sex while she is broadcasting. But soon reality sets in, courtesy of a sinister operative (Christopher Ryan Grant). The action ends with a stinging comment on the intimate, and often toxic, relationship between media and the establishment.

All three actors are first-rate - check out Ashford's false, frozen smile when on air, sporting a blonde wig that could have been scalped from Karoline Leavitt or Natalie Harp. Director Saheem Ali handles these creepy dramatic goods with assurance. And Churchill remains a wonder. I saw her prophetic piece Cloud 9 Off-Broadway forty-seven years ago. That she is still turning out vigorous, politically engaged work seems nothing short of miraculous. (I have it on good authority that there is more to come, too.) Cheers to the Public for giving her a platform for her sibylline warning as we enter this perilous election season. --David Barbour