Displaying items by tag: The Music Man

You got trouble, my friends, if you’re going to put on Meredith Willson’s The Music Man.

If you’re going to stage a show that’s been staged ten thousand times since its 1957 Broadway debut—from Hugh Jackman on the stage to Matthew Broderick on the screen to every doggone high school from Clear Lake to Mason City.

A show lovingly recreating an era (Willson was born in turn-of-the-century Iowa) and themes (Willson’s virtuosity on the piccolo found him playing in John Phillip Sousa’s band and Toscanini’s New York Philharmonic) that aren’t quite old enough to be ancient but aren’t familiar enough not to seem dated.

To try and recreate those songs.

“Trouble”

“Till There Was You”

“Seventy-Six Trombones”

To try and attempt to touch the hem of the salesman’s trousers worn by Robert Preston’s Professor Harold Hill—Preston not only originated Hill and played him for much of the original production’s 1,375-show run and the beloved 1962 Hollywood adaptation, he is Professor Harold Hill. Nobody—not any one of those ten thousand (or more) high school or professional actors, not even Hugh Jackman—can be the band instrument-peddling flim-flam man like Preston was and is and always will be.

My friends, if you’re going to attempt all of that… well, you’ve got trouble.

Unless you’re Katie Spelman, who is directing and choreographing Marriott Theatre’s current production of Meredith Willson’s The Music Man. Spelman’s production lovingly embraces and focuses on some aspects of Willson’s original, while avoiding the pitfalls such an iconic show presents. But what this production does best is it knows its strengths, and it leans into them, giving Spelman’s show its own unique flair.

We see the sort of Harold Hill we’re going to spend the evening with right away aboard the train from Rock Island. In most productions I’ve seen, me and the rest of the audience know the first scene’s big reveal, and our eyes remain glued to a particular passenger despite the cast’s best efforts at the syncopated opening number, “Rock Island.” But even though we spot KJ Hippensteel at the back of the train car, we don’t focus on him. Instead, we focus on the enthusiastic ensemble that everyone—Marriott’s in-the-round setup means it’s always the best seat in the house—sees up close and personal and from all angles. Ron E. Rains, all dolled up like a turn-of-the-country fellow, leads the charge, while his fellow passengers run through Spelman’s clockwork choreography. Right away, I was glad to see a familiar face, Michael Mahler, who brought the same charm to each role in this play as he has in many past.

After Hippensteel’s Professor Harold Hill disembarks from the train to River City, Iowa, this closeness and intimacy we felt aboard the train transfers right into town. This production doesn’t try to recreate River City on a Hollywood scale. But it really focuses on certain things and gives us a good, close look at them, which we might not have gotten on the Broadway stage or the silver screen.

The citizens of River City are each and every one unique. And, as they move around the round, allowing us to see each and every one of them, we appreciate the details of each of their costumes (by Raquel Adorno), we appreciate that each one is someone. Particularly charming are youngsters Emily Ann Brooks and Sam Linda, Janet Ulrich Brooks’ Widow Paroo, Elin Joy Seiler’s Amaryllis, Alex Goodrich’s Mayor Shinn, Melanie Loren’s hilarious Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn, and the spot-on barbershop harmonies of the school board quartet (Matt Edmonds, Quinn Rigg, Michael Potsic, and the afore-mentioned Mahler).

Besides the ensemble’s vocal strengths, the singer who really shines is Alexandra Silber as Marian Paroo, the town librarian. No shrinking violet, no old-maid-against-her-will, and not even Mrs. Partridge (although I do love Shirley Jones’ Marian the Librarian), Silber brings her Grammy-nominated vocals to the fore. This production’s brought Julie Andrews-caliber pipes to the party—Silber’s soprano as she sang of “My White Knight” gave me chills.

But while all of these strengths—the ensemble’s skill, the cast’s charm, the performers’ pipes, the theater’s—are recognized and utilized and add up to a unique and charming take on an old favorite, I’ve not yet addressed KJ Hippensteel as Professor Harold Hill. And that’s because, like the production itself, Hippensteel’s Hill reads the room and knows what the room needs, or he knows how to sell the room what the room thinks it needs.

Hippensteel’s Hill doesn’t try to go toe-to-toe with Preston’s over-the-top traveling salesman—he’d have failed like every other Hill since Preston caught his last train ride. But Hippensteel’s Hill knows his own strengths.

He’s city pretty and, while out of place in a place like River City, he’s a curiosity. He’s slippery, slinking around with an easy physicality that sometimes seems to be at twice the speed of the Iowans moving around him. And Hippensteel’s Hill seems like he might just be a nice enough fellow—while Preston’s Hill, played by an actor who up until then had usually played screen villains, is a bad guy you hope could see the light, Hippensteel’s Hill is a good guy who you hope can right the ship after some bad life choices.

But, because this is The Music Man, a show we music theater folks know and love, Hippensteel’s Hill does give us the flourishes, the hand gestures, the hops, the dips, all the pizazz we came into the theater expecting from the professor. However, Hippensteel does it on his own terms, as his own Harold Hill. Just like the entire charming and unique production of Meredith Willson’s The Music Man does, playing now through June 2 at the Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire.