A Killer Musical Slays Me; So Does a Tepid One

Sondheim Part 2

by Jay Blotcher, January 25, 2007

Having immersed myself in the classic musical "Company" in New York City, I had a hunger for all things Sondheim. Fortuitously, the 1990 Sondheim musical "Assassins" was playing in Rhinebeck. The gods of theatre had smiled upon me!

Now, "Assassins" is not a resounding success -- through no fault of the Center cast, which gave it their level best. But I learned a lesson a long time ago about lesser works by avatars of the American theater. The lesson came in 1977, when the Tennessee Williams play “The Red Devil Battery Sign” had its premiere in Boston. Drugs, alcoholism, and sheer age had weakened Williams’ craft; "Red Devil" was seen as a tired retread of most of the powerful tropes from his earlier classics. But it was cast member Anthony Quinn who put the matter in perspective when he told reporters, “I’d rather be in a flop by a master than in a hit by a shit.” Sheer brilliance, that aphorism, and one that certainly applies here.

This musical was a collaboration by Sondheim (music and lyrics) and John Weidman (book). The two had collaborated previously on “Pacific Overtures,” a brilliant if notoriously inaccessible meditation on the British colonization of the Far East. Assassins occasionally flirts with brilliance, but it is more dependably a fractured musical rescue about the hapless souls—some well-known, most not—who made a bid for immortality by pointing a loaded gun at a president of the United States.

The scene opens on a sideshow from America’s past (Andy Weintraub and Richard Prouse are to be applauded for the evocative set). A narrow-eyed carny, clearly; a symbolic representation of the Divine Maker, sings of the vagaries of fate and fame as he spins a roulette wheel. This heavy-handed and deliberate symbolism sets the tone for this musical, where obvious matters are pummeled home again and again.

Assassins reminds one of E.L. Doctorow’s "Ragtime," where historical characters chance together even though history may never have united them. In this case, killers (and failed killers) from the 19th and 20th centuries gather together at the sideshow, to whine in song to anyone within earshot the utterly rational reason why they tried to kill the president of their era. Each has his or her own measure of sanity, ranging from Leon Czolgosz (an anarchist who killed William McKinley in Buffalo in 1901, to Sara Jane Moore who tried to shoot Gerald Ford in San Francisco. (She was stopped by a bystander named Oliver Sipple, whose own tale is a tragic one worth revisiting.)

In a series of songs—none of them terribly memorable although sung well by the cast, especially when three male members sang in harmony—the assassins share their frustrations, aspirations and delusions that led them to one desperate act they hoped would change history. Weidman’s book veers from surreal moments to naturalistic ones, lumping together static monologues with scenes that are occasionally affecting.

Ultimately, we never get beneath the skins of most of these characters, who remain vividly-painted cartoons merely in service to an unfocused message. However, several cast members succeed in rising above the cocktail-psychology mechanics of their characterizations: Jim Nurre as the charismatic, if delusional John Wilkes Booth; Doug Liepshutz as the narcissistic Charles Giuteau who shot James A. Garfield in 1881; Brian C. Petti, who imbues Czolgosz with soulful appeal; Carly Repko, who copes admirably with the sloppy depiction of Sara Jane Moore as a harried housewife and klutz; and Rich Hack in a soiled santa suit as the lesser-known Sam Byck who failed to off “Tricky” Dick Nixon. While Hack’s long monologue seems shoehorned into the story, he invigorated it with an impotent fury. When cast members bowed at the curtain, Hack did not break character, still sporting Byck’s misanthropic scowl.

The musical "Assassins" is intermittently fascinating and certainly valuable as a footnote to Sondheim’s career. But if you have a yen to understand Americans assassins and our collective love-hate fascination with the subject., I recommend the book Assassination Vacation (Simon & Schuster) by comedian Sarah Vowell. In this loopy and illuminating travelogue, Vowell, an assassin buff and amateur historian, visits the sites of key American presidential assassinations, to see the museums and gift shops that have sprung up to commemorate these spasms in history. She uncovers the secrets, ironies and misconceptions that comprise much of our accepted American history regarding these incidents. Even better than her book is the audiobook for Assassination Vacation, which Vowell herself narrates in her marvelous little girl/cynical slacker voice, with the help of some celebrity friends.

"Assassins" is at the Center for Performing Arts at Rhinebeck through January 28. For tickets and information, visit www.centerforperformingarts.org

Jay Blotcher, a former Manhattanite, began his Ulster County life as a weekender in 1996. He and his partner, Brook Garrett, now live in High Falls. Jay is a regular Chronogram contributor and has written for the New York Times, the Times Herald-Record, the Citizen, InsideOUT, and Ulster Publishing’s Almanac.