Amélie
Music by Daniel Messé, lyrics by Nathan Tysen
& Daniel Messé; book by Craig Lucas
Directed by Pam Mackinnon; music staging & choreography by Sam Pinkleton
Directed by Pam Mackinnon; music staging & choreography by Sam Pinkleton
Opened April 3, 2017
Walter Kerr Theatre, 219 West 48th Street
ameliebroadway.com
Savvy Crawford and Phillipa Soo in Amélie (photo: Joan Marcus) |
Despite its renown, I’ve never much cared for the forced whimsy of
the 2001 French movie Amélie, which
is enervating and tiring in equal measure; only the luminescent Audrey Tautou
as the eponymous heroine saves it from its own cloyingness. Likewise, in the labored
musical version of Amélie, Phillipa Soo is sweetly unassuming, with an affecting, natural
(and unforced) singing voice, but the adaptation even one-ups the original at
being annoyingly eccentric.
After her beloved Princess Diana is killed in a car crash in the
heart of Paris, Amélie—a shy young woman with a messy upbringing (her mom was
killed when a suicidal jumper fell on top of her and her doctor dad misdiagnosed
her with a bad heart)—resolves to be a do-gooder, making things right for
acquaintances and strangers who need her special dispensations.
When she sees Nino, a strange young man, she stalks him in her
inimitable way, and he eventually succumbs to her offbeat charms. The movie,
directed with grotesque visual flourishes by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, resorted to
close-ups of Tautou’s winsome face whenever it got too eye-rollingly
self-absorbed. The musical approximates the movie’s oddball style through David
Zinn’s clever sets and Amanda Villalobos’ cartoonish puppets, alongside
stridently overwrought acting by the supporting cast, many doubling as Amélie’s
friends, co-workers and Parisian neighbors.
Director Pam Mackinnon seems at a loss as to how to navigate such
tricky thickets of pseudo-surrealism, and Daniel Messé’s score—with mediocre
lyrics by Messé and Nathan Tysen—doesn’t overcome Craig Lucas’s patchy book. Messé’s
songs are typical of today’s Broadway, poppy and treacly by turns, with not a single
memorable (or hummable) tune in sight.
Moments in Amélie are
uncomfortable reminders of other recent musicals, as if there’s a Broadway blueprint
that needs to be followed to the letter: when Amélie’s female café coworkers
break into sassy song, it’s like we’ve suddenly dropped in on Waitress. And when “Sir Elton John”
materializes to sing a duet with Amélie—the tenuous connection is that the real
Elton sang “Candle in the Wind” at Di’s funeral—the show stops dead and never
really recovers.
As the young Amélie, the aptly-named Savvy Crawford has a scarily
impressive stage presence, which somewhat compensates for Adam Chanler-Berat’s
dud of a Nino. Again, Phillipa Soo sings beautifully and appears appropriately
gamine while effortlessly negotiating the Montmartre set’s stairs. But Amélie the musical is ultimately as shallow
as its cinematic forebear.
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