Theatre in Review: The Robber Bridegroom (Roundabout Theatre Company/Laura Pels Theatre)

	Steven Pasquale. Photo: Joan Marcus

"There's nothin' up," sings Rosamund, the winsome heroine of The Robber Bridegroom, in one of that show's many beguiling songs. They are words that everyone involved in the new production at the Roundabout might well have heeded, for there's far too much up with Alex Timbers' production -- too many bits of business, too many gratuitous gags, too many incidents of the cast breaking up on stage. After a while, you might well start to wonder if the actors aren't having a better time than you.

An underperformer from the 1976-77 Broadway season, which nevertheless launched the career of Barry Bostwick (and which, in an earlier, limited engagement with The Acting Company, provided early Broadway exposure for Patti LuPone), The Robber Bridegroom is a slender, foolish entertainment that, even at a mere 90 minutes, suffers from the curse of overmusicalization. Hardly a moment goes by that the authors, Alfred Uhry (book and lyrics) and Robert Waldman (music), can't resist taking a pause and turning it into another number, resulting in a story stretched to the breaking point. Because the score is largely delightful, the problem is understandable, but, given that the starting point is too much of a good thing, it is unnecessary and inadvisable to lay on the gags with the overcaffeinated gusto that marks Timbers' production.

Taken from a story by Eudora Welty, the action focuses on Jamie Lockhart, a robber who, his face covered in blackberry juice, prowls the Natchez Trace, the historic trail that, in the early 19th century, linked Natchez, Mississippi, with Nashville, Tennessee. In an unaccustomed act of kindness, Jamie rescues the wealthy planter Clement Musgrove from the thieving attentions of Little Harp, whose brother/accomplice, Big Harp, is nothing more than a head in a box. (And if you think they aren't going to serenade us with a tune called "Two Heads are Better than One," you are sadly misinformed.) Jamie, who only enjoys those pleasures that are stolen, is taken home by Musgrove, who plans to set the robber up with his winsome daughter, Rosamund.

Here's where the plot's multiple mistaken identities kick in: Rosamund, who has already had a fling with Jamie (in his robber guise), wants no part of the man pushed on her by her father, so she disguises herself as a hag. Jamie, repelled by her, decides he will marry Rosamund (who doesn't recognize him) for the money and continue his fling with the lovely girl he has been sleeping with in the forest, unaware that they are the same person. Meanwhile, Salome, Musgrove's witchy second wife, is hatching all sorts of plots to get rid of Rosamund for good.

Given the solidly constructed, if silly, book, and a score of real quality, The Robber Bridegroom could provide a solid evening's entertainment if delivered with the right laconic, throwaway charm. Instead, this production is marked by one hard-sell technique after another. The smallish cast -- about half the number used on Broadway -- descends on us like the entire Grand Ole Opry, bound and determined to give us a good time, even if it kills us. The constant grinning and frantic guitar-picking quickly becomes wearying, as does the endless procession of coarse, often cornball, bits. We barely have time to enjoy a single gag before everyone is off and running, executing another, and another after that.

Timbers is, admittedly, an inventive director, but he seemingly has no edit function; if he likes a gag, he sees no reason not to repeat it. You've never seen so many examples of one character hitting another, usually accompanied by a pratfall or the sight of teeth flying across the stage. A bit in which increasingly smaller and lighter objects (including a feather duster) are tossed, accompanied by the same crashing sound effect, gets revived, with diminished returns. Someone has apparently reasoned that if the sight of Leslie Kritzer (as Salome) taking a flying fall into the wings is funny, it is even funnier when done three times. This, I am sorry to say, is a fallacy. I am even sorrier to note that Kritzer, who usually brightens up shows with her comic skills, is the biggest offender here, rearing back and mugging endlessly, pulling one object after another out of her décolletage, and, in a supremely embarrassing moment, joining the crowd that has seized Jamie, and, falling to her knees, miming the act of fellatio for what seems like an hour and a half.

This tendency extends to Connor Gallagher's overly busy staging of the musical numbers, which are always threatening to erupt into yet another barn dance. Nobody seems to trust that any of the songs can stand on their own; Salome's character-setting solo, "The Pricklepear Bloom," is severely undercut in this way. The best numbers by far are the most simply staged, including "Love Stolen," which lays out Jamie's philosophy of seduction, and "Sleepy Man" (the score's best-known selection), in which Rosamund lulls Jamie to slumber with the intention of unmasking him.

As Jamie, Steven Pasquale brings his signature good looks and superb singing voice, but he gets lost in all the activity; Jamie somehow doesn't seem to be the center of his own story. Ahna O'Reilly is a sweet-voiced Rosamund, but she lacks a distinctive personality and her attempts at playing ugly are notably unfunny. Andrew Durand and Evan Harrington's Little Harp/Big Harp act is more effortful than amusing. As Goat, the moronic boy sent by Salome to tail Rosamund, Greg Hildreth tries to get a laugh by picking lint out of his navel. Lance Roberts sings well as Musgrove, but often seems lost in the shuffle.

The right atmosphere is struck by Donyale Werle's set, a rustic cabin interior decorated with stuffed animals, which extends into the house. The lighting designers, Jake DeGroot and Jeff Croiter, have collaborated closely with Werle, filling the space with tiny bulbs and Mason jar "candles," as well as a wall of hurricane lamps upstage; they also make some notably bold color choices, suffusing the stage with saturated oranges, greens, and yellows. Emily Rebholz's leather and gingham costumes feel right; the sight of Rosamund in a glittery gown and brown boots provides one of the more amusing moments. The sound design, by Darron L West and Charles Coes, achieves a totally natural, yet thoroughly intelligible, sound; you have to look very closely for the actors' mics to realize that a reinforcement system is in place.

Timbers (who has done several fine things, including the disco musical Here Lies Love), is back in his comfort zone after the large-scale failure of Rocky, once again working the cartoon style that won him plaudits in Peter and the Starcatcher (a show that I was in the minority in not loving). He is sufficiently talented that one wishes he would relax and let the audience enjoy a simple good time. As it is, he is the ideal director for the age of ADHD. In the end, however, The Robber Bridegroom doesn't entertain; it exhausts. -- David Barbour