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| Stephen Sondheim's Assassins |
For audiences walking into the upstairs stage at The Long Beach Playhouse right now, there will be one disconcerting sight. The stage is made up like a carnival with bright colors, even banners waving the familiar red, white, and blue. It's the image of Americana set to a calliope of familiar patriotic melodies, giving off the sense that this will be a musical about the joys of being American. But no, this is far from the earnestness of Rodgers & Hammerstein. This is Stephen Sondheim's Assassins: a show that gleefully pays tribute to the few men and women who have at one point or another tried to shoot an American president. It's still a vision of the American Dream, but only this time denied and projected through a fun house mirror where historical figures like John Wilkes Booth and Squeaky Fromme get big song and dance numbers and the right to more emotion and depth than many think they deserve. It's a carnival of morbidity, and those who claim to laugh at every gallows humor joke is probably lying. It's dark and hilarious as well as uncomfortable, and it's the perfect musical for those wanting a little edge to their pomp and circumstance.
While maybe the side effect of a limited cast, the opening number features a carnival barker approaching people dressed as if they are on Coney Island in the 1950's. There's a sweet innocence to the vision as the barker sticks out his hand to a passing customer, offers a gun, and tells them to "shoot a president" as if they're winning a giant teddy bear. It's the request for prosperity and happiness that the show is based around, and the choice to get confrontational in subtext already puts the audience at ease. Over the course of the two hours to proceed, this Coney Island backdrop will be the source of dark motivation and humor. For now, it's a moment for audience members still not convinced that they should've gone to a show called Assassins to possibly walk out. The number cries that "Everybody's got the right to their dream," which is something that America was built upon, only in Sondheim's vision it's one where people fail to reach it and take it out on the most metaphorical example possible: a president. By the end of the number, the barker has a costume change and is none other than Booth (Derek Rubiano): a towering figure over this entire show, if just because he was the first assassin in U.S. history.
What becomes equally disconcerting about the show is that there's a certain innocence to every characters' story at first, save for Booth who is met after the President Lincoln assassination. The story's brilliance is that there is no one reason that these characters seek revenge. Among the reasons throughout the show, there are: bad theater reviews, mental illness, love, propaganda, religion, and economics. These are all things that by themselves are innocent problems that less violent people have faced. It's the entry point to a certain depth provided in intimate moments with these characters, allowing them to feel more human. It's a disturbing concept to sympathize with people who have become perceived as the devil, but the show does an excellent job of never making them entirely free of some judgment. In cases such as Squeaky Fromme (Taryn Moyse), her story is given more of a slapstick approach where her delusional love to Charles Manson leads her to shoot Gerald Ford (Mark Eggert) only to fail. As sad as it is to see her fair, it's the comedy of seeing her fumble that gives the show its delicate balance between humor and outright meanness. Even in Squeaky's saddest moments, there's something comic. The same could be said about everyone, if just because there's the distance of some perceived fiction in the performance.
It also helps that Sondheim's music selection is maybe one of his most acidic ever. The opening number "Everybody's Got the Right" plays with carnival imagery before alluding the pursuit of happiness to murder. The composer borrowed heavily from the Americana that highlights the stage, even at times borrowing motifs from the likes of marches by Sousa. The upbeat nature of these folk songs also allows tracks like "How I Saved Roosevelt" to be insanely catchy and era appropriate while having these upbeat singers detail their ability to stop an assassination. It's in the execution that the music avoids being disturbing in a distracting manner. In its place is a lot of text that sounds like it's endorsing murder, but is actually highly critical innuendos. There are points where the tragedy is emphasized as sad, but the selfishness of these characters thrusts the music back into upbeat requests to be remembered as something more than a failure.
The Long Beach Playhouse's most brilliant element of the show is the set design. While the cast does an excellent job of bringing the material to life, it's the backdrop of a carnival that allows the details to feel accessible, in particular the rear projection that features presidents' faces like a beanbag toss game. Knock them over and win a prize! It's the perfect metaphor, and the screen transitions throughout the show to feature locations necessary to the plot, as well as images of the presidents, who rarely get speaking time in the show. In its place is a presentation that comically sounds off when somebody has won (shot the president) or lost. The visceral presentation turns it into a trivial game that is appalling enough to be funny, if just for the subverted expectations. Still, the choice to make this warped vision of America play like a good time at the carnival is the show's stroke of brilliance, as it captures the competitive desire to win better than any other set could. It may be at times morbid, but it works.
What's more incredible is that in 2018, in a time where mass murders are unfortunately too common, the show still works. It may feel a little harder to laugh at certain gallows humor moments, but the show's lack of endorsement means that all of the built-up pathos never sticks beyond adding detail. There's a cynicism to their quest for the American Dream, and the gift is making it compelling enough. The show gets the audience close enough to these despicable characters without having the feeling of threat (though be forewarned, there's a moment where the assassins point guns at the audience - though no actual bullets are shot). They are in the world of theater, and it's ridiculous to see these murderers do grand routines that at times play as gun worship. The show knows this, and hopes that those willing to understand this strange piece of American history will go along.
While there were some sound issues, this production of Assassins is a very well crafted way of turning this tonal musical into a fascinating oddity. It's a show that feels doomed to have been cancelled years ago, but actually provides deeper meaning to the chaos that these characters had throughout their lives and centuries. It's something universal enough that it almost serves as a warning for audiences to seek help, to find ways not to be drawn into sadistic acts. As fun as it is to laugh at Squeaky Fromme, it should hopefully raise questions on how to keep people like her from reaching that stage. It's a provocative show, and one that does a great job at making this tough subject come to life in entertaining ways. While it's not likely to appeal to those who dislike dark humor and singing and dancing assassins, it should do the trick if plunging into the depths of American depravity is something tolerable. There's power here, and thankfully a really fun musical, too.
It also helps that Sondheim's music selection is maybe one of his most acidic ever. The opening number "Everybody's Got the Right" plays with carnival imagery before alluding the pursuit of happiness to murder. The composer borrowed heavily from the Americana that highlights the stage, even at times borrowing motifs from the likes of marches by Sousa. The upbeat nature of these folk songs also allows tracks like "How I Saved Roosevelt" to be insanely catchy and era appropriate while having these upbeat singers detail their ability to stop an assassination. It's in the execution that the music avoids being disturbing in a distracting manner. In its place is a lot of text that sounds like it's endorsing murder, but is actually highly critical innuendos. There are points where the tragedy is emphasized as sad, but the selfishness of these characters thrusts the music back into upbeat requests to be remembered as something more than a failure.
The Long Beach Playhouse's most brilliant element of the show is the set design. While the cast does an excellent job of bringing the material to life, it's the backdrop of a carnival that allows the details to feel accessible, in particular the rear projection that features presidents' faces like a beanbag toss game. Knock them over and win a prize! It's the perfect metaphor, and the screen transitions throughout the show to feature locations necessary to the plot, as well as images of the presidents, who rarely get speaking time in the show. In its place is a presentation that comically sounds off when somebody has won (shot the president) or lost. The visceral presentation turns it into a trivial game that is appalling enough to be funny, if just for the subverted expectations. Still, the choice to make this warped vision of America play like a good time at the carnival is the show's stroke of brilliance, as it captures the competitive desire to win better than any other set could. It may be at times morbid, but it works.
What's more incredible is that in 2018, in a time where mass murders are unfortunately too common, the show still works. It may feel a little harder to laugh at certain gallows humor moments, but the show's lack of endorsement means that all of the built-up pathos never sticks beyond adding detail. There's a cynicism to their quest for the American Dream, and the gift is making it compelling enough. The show gets the audience close enough to these despicable characters without having the feeling of threat (though be forewarned, there's a moment where the assassins point guns at the audience - though no actual bullets are shot). They are in the world of theater, and it's ridiculous to see these murderers do grand routines that at times play as gun worship. The show knows this, and hopes that those willing to understand this strange piece of American history will go along.
While there were some sound issues, this production of Assassins is a very well crafted way of turning this tonal musical into a fascinating oddity. It's a show that feels doomed to have been cancelled years ago, but actually provides deeper meaning to the chaos that these characters had throughout their lives and centuries. It's something universal enough that it almost serves as a warning for audiences to seek help, to find ways not to be drawn into sadistic acts. As fun as it is to laugh at Squeaky Fromme, it should hopefully raise questions on how to keep people like her from reaching that stage. It's a provocative show, and one that does a great job at making this tough subject come to life in entertaining ways. While it's not likely to appeal to those who dislike dark humor and singing and dancing assassins, it should do the trick if plunging into the depths of American depravity is something tolerable. There's power here, and thankfully a really fun musical, too.
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