Cramped KATE still needs the kiss of life

KISS ME, KATE

★★ (out of five)
William Peace University

Oct. 22 - 30, 2016

Review by Byron Woods

Since William Peace University’s theater program remains in turnaround after a former chancellor's mismanagement sent both faculty and students fleeing two short years ago, we hoped their signing Jules Odendahl-James to helm Cole Porter's 1948 backstage musical KISS ME, KATE was a bellwether of improving fortunes. On its face, the choice was imaginative, if not daring: paring one of the region’s foremost feminist directors with controversial and conspicuous old-school takes on gender roles lifted from equally problematic source material in Shakespeare’s comedy The Taming of the Shrew. When a stage artist so well-versed in theater’s potential to deconstruct and critique its own texts was preparing to take that vehicle out for a spin, fireworks were clearly possible.

Disappointingly, though, this production fizzled when it reiterated Porter's lyrics and playwrights Samuel and Bella Spewack’s book more than it ever interrogated them on stage. Beyond that, a series of poor design and staging choices further compromised an awkward and largely sparkless production.

Mind the gap: dancers on the edge in Kiss Me, Kate

Much of Kate’s clumsiness stemmed from its dysfunctional set design. Sonya Leigh Drum’s rotating two-story set piece whisked us on stage for moments from a titanic revival of Shakespeare's Shrew, Kate's show-within-the-show, before wheeling around to disclose the contretemps taking place behind the scenes. But when Drum’s oversized structure left only a few feet of clearance at the edge of the stage, Odendahl-James’ scene blocking and Denise Cerniglia’s choreography both looked cramped, if not precarious, in multiple numbers including “I Sing of Love,” “Too Darn Hot,” and “Bianca.”

Lead actors Delphon “DJ” Curtis, Jr. and Brenna Coogan did all in their power to overcome the production’s difficulties as Fred and Lilli, a famous film and Broadway acting couple split by divorce—but possibly reuniting during the out-of-town tryouts for their Shakespeare revival. (You’ll be shocked, no doubt, to learn that both characters are flaming egotists, and that no stage is big enough for the two of them when Fred’s peccadilloes with a supporting actor inevitably come to Lilli’s attention.)

Leads with strengths: Brenna Coogan and Delphon "DJ" Curtis, Jr. in Kiss Me, Kate

Under Julie Bradley’s strong music direction, Coogan and Curtis’ luminous, nearly operatic voices sweetened the musical meringue of their early duet, “Wunderbar.” Coogan’s notable later solos made the risible “I Hate Men” and gave considerable charm to Porter's musical invitation to domestic neglect and abuse, “So In Love.” We’ve admired Curtis’ dark charisma in earlier productions; here, it animated an amusing “I’ve Come to Wive It Wealthily in Padua” with a strong male chorus, before lending gravitas to the sentimental sexism in “Were Thine That Special Face,” a reductive hymn to his character's all-important requirements in a bride.

Fred and Lilli’s scarcely concealed on-stage cat-fight during a scene from Shrew—and subsequent wound-licking sessions back stage—were rewardingly laughable. But things grew lonelier in this production when Curtis and Coogan proved the only two who dependably knew how to hold their own alone on stage.

Placeholder staging and choreography made several musical numbers drag. And supporting actors seemed abandoned or left to their own devices in showcase numbers including Ara’Vīa Moore’s "Always True to You (In My Fashion)” and Khloé Lawes’ musically troubled “Another Op'nin’, Another Show.” In “Why Can’t You Behave,” we uneasily countenanced a black actor’s character repeatedly begging her lover, “Won't you turn that new leaf over | So your baby can be your slave?”

Designer Derrick Ivey also departed from his usually solid costuming contributions. In his defense, it’s never fair when the clothing is asked to provide the only clues about a show's time frame—in this case, the early '60s. And there was a lovely taste of mod London from that period in variations on a black-and-white harlequin motif among the chorus and supporting actors.

But sheer incoherence ruled the costumes for the leading roles. Lilli’s top seemed a half-kimono, half-flotation vest in a fabric reminiscent of a 1950s oven mitt. That adorned a peasant skirt-and-bloomers hybrid that must have taken days to make, in clashing layers of leopard skin and two-toned fabric in a zig-zag pattern last seen on Twin Peaks.

Atop Fred’s blue dashiki (and oversized cummerbund), his multi-hued vest suggested a walking color blindness test, over pants that resembled a vintage shower curtain from a Motel 6. If this melange of visual bric-à-brac actually evokes the '60s (or any other era), Celebrex may not be right for you. 

Though sound designer Stevan Dupor found a workaround for much of the architectural dilemma which placed Bradley’s eight-piece orchestra in a separate room on Kenan Hall’s second floor, equalization and balance problems still evinced at points during the evening.

We caught a glimmer of the critical and satirical possibilities this material presented in the late number “Bianca,” as the women mocked a failed musical come-on by Lucentio (Joshua Walker). And Alex Reynolds and Nathan Hamilton provided comedic relief as mobster gunmen impressed into on-stage duty, including the classic comical duet, “Brush Up Your Shakespeare.”

Still, strong leads and less developed supporting actors couldn’t fully redeem a show whose design elements disadvantaged its performers, and whose momentum slowed or stopped during too many musical numbers. These and other unanswered challenges left this Kate still in desperate need of the kiss of life.