Is the cast better than the show? : More from the Fringe

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                                                  Four score and seven years ago, exactly, our forefathers brought forth a new national fascination: news headlines trumpeting reports about an elusive female robber dubbed “The Bobbed Hair Bandit.” Yes, now it’s a musical with the same name.  Fortunately, a string of zombie attacks before a wedding in the 1980s is NOT ripped from the headlines, and you could argue that any zombie story is ripped OFF… from any other zombie story because what else can you do with zombies but go for blood and, naturally, sing and dance?  This time, it all leads up to a possible Zombie Wedding.  We’ve had plenty of musicals in the 1920s, not to mention the ones written back then that survived and got revived – with their carefree bubbly energy or bubble-brained characters and we’ve had a flurry of campy horror musicals.  Both tend to be broad.  Neither current example from the NY International Fringe Festival, ending August 28, is an outstanding example of its genre, but have some talented folks involved.  Is it a blessing or a frustration when you have a talented cast working hard but the material isn’t as strong as they are?  Both, I suppose.   

The Bobbed Hair Bandit brings a true story to life and to light.  The truth is its headstart as well as its trap.  It works out of the assumption that armed robbery is cute.  That is, crime does pay off for an audience if the robber is a dim but perky Jazz Age female who loves crime novels and wants to act out her fantasy as a lark and grins, sings, and dances her way through the adventure.  Throw in puzzled police and let the choreography include sidestepping the right and wrong issue and some of the deeper social implications. Or maybe throw them in somewhere.  When the bandit and her husband have a personal heartbreaking tragedy, we’re asked to take them seriously when they’ve been two-dimensional cartoony earlier.  The tragedy really happened, so to write it out of the script would be rewriting history, but the juxtaposition of moods would be criticized if the story were pure fiction.  Little is taken too seriously – and who says it has to be in a razzly-dazzly winking musical bit of froth?  However, under the too laboriously whipped whipped cream, the play dabbles at commenting on issues such as the latest issue of a newspaper needing juicy copy to sell -- truth or consequences be damned, how desperate times lead to desperate measures, a side glance society’s view of women, and a reminder of how incompetent our law enforcement system can be.  The true tale is taken mostly as a breezy curiosity piece, but my curiosity was not piqued enough to be pulled in for the side show with side comments.  Songs were sometimes frustrating in that they started off promisingly, but musically and lyrically became repetitive and didn’t blossom into more than a germ of an idea or slick lick.  Britt Bonney composed to the music, with Anna Marquardt providing both lyrics and book.  They do get some real ‘20s flavor, but an enticing mini-spoonful sample of an ice cream flavor is not the same as making a  satisfying cone with a few scoops.  For example, “A Little Bit More” has an adorable period-perfect title phrase, but after a little bit and then a lot more and a reprise, it’s a little bit much.     

The gimmick with the casting of females in all the male roles except the bandit’s husband is entertaining and has its own de facto way of mocking macho misogyny.  A likeable Ariana Shore, and particularly the delightful twinkle-in-her-eye and twinkle-toed, talent-loaded Jennifer Wren, are standouts as detectives, with Tracie Franklin doing honorable mention multiple duty as commissioner, ensemble member and dance captain.  And director-choreographer Deborah Wolfson’s choreography offers some real pleasures, with the company numbers showing the rewards of hard work, in full-out production numbers not often seen in Fringe shows.      Katlyn Carlson as the title character needs stronger direction and stronger material to make her compelling as the central figure as her goofy glee grates and dizzy dame fizziness peaks almost immediately and, as her husband, Chase Burnett seems to be in a different play sometimes.  The play itself feels long and yet leaves so much unexplored and characters undefined.  What starts off as more of a breezy Betty Boop short comes up short when aiming its guns for a shot at full-length, consistently engaging entertainment or a thought-provoking one.                     :                         :                      :

Zombie Wedding brings us back to the time period of the 1980s, although the writers only occasionally take real advantage of the time period for pop culture references, fashion, or then-current events, or inspiration for musical style pastiche.  I guess zombies are timeless.  They sure can be fun and wild, but can you have a full-length musical with them?  Granted, a little zombieness goes a long way, so the creators go out of their way to wait and alternate zombie moments with scenes with the bride who is clueless that her fiancé has become a zombie and equally clueless that his and her good pal is in love with her.  In a broadly-played zombie story (Can there be any other kind?), it’s difficult to take the other parts seriously and get pulled in to the play-it-straight stuff.  The cast here is very talented and often distracts us from that problem, even singing some disappointing songs with fine vocals and energy and acting the sweet lovesick elements and male-bonding bits with conviction. Wes Hart is the choreographer and does especially well with the stylized stumbling for the zombies.  He’s one of them, cast as the strutting, sort of a jerk would-be groom, unworthy of the sweet betrothed one.  He’s  amusing as the attention-wandering, physically unsteady zombie.  Much of the story revolves around trying to cure him or get him ready for the wedding and pass him off as normal.  A little illegal medicine helps, as it helps that the aforementioned good pal happens to be a pharmacist in training with some strong stuff in his pocket.  Ryan Nearhoff is the good guy, good pal, and a good singer, plaintively singing a song called “Cathy” that repeats the girl’s name waaaaaaaaaaay too many times in search of more meaningful lyrics.  Composer Daniel Sturman and bookwriter/lyricist R.C. Staab don’t always rise to the occasion to rise beyond sweet or slightly strange, as required.  Randal Myer’s direction allows for some brisker action and spunk, deflecting our attention when things get thin and culminating in some swell wedding day hijinks and finding a pretty good balance after all for the love story scenes as we root for our hero who really loves the girl to get her. 

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