A Tale of Two Cities: Oh, the Humanity

Attention producers: the very desirable Al Hirshfeld Theater will likely be available sometime very soon. Barring any unforeseen miracle, current tenant A Tale of Two Cities is likely not long for this world. In a recent New York Post column, Michael Riedel refers to the show as being "bad-mouthed into an early grave." Keep in mind that this is the same man who referred to Cry-Baby as a possible "sleeper hit," and to the soon-to-open Fela as his pick for "this season's terrain-changer." (See my Fela review below. My take: Not so much.)

But, at least in the case of A Tale of Two Cities, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Riedel is probably right. Of course, I could be wrong. (It's happened before.) But I can't imagine that, once the reviews are out, anyone will be lining up to see this derivative drivel. And it's not like they're lining up now, either: the show has played to a little over two-thirds capacity for its two weeks of previews so far, and its average ticket price is has been less than $60. So, yeah, people are lining up, but at TKTS.

Some might say that the problem is that the creators have jumped onto the Les Mis é rables bandwagon about two decades too late. But there's another problem: the show sucks. Not as much as, say, Lestat or The Pirate Queen, perhaps, but enough to make Jekyll and Hyde look good by comparison. At first, as I sat watching A Tale of Two Cities, I couldn't help thinking of it as Les Miz light. But by the end of the show, the "light" moniker no longer seemed appropriate: although the show clocked in at an hour shorter than Les Miz, it felt about an hour longer.

Most of the blame must, of course, fall at the feet of triple-threat author Jill Santoriello, who supplied the book, music, and lyrics. It's admirable that Santoriello aimed so high, but in retrospect she might have benefited from some more seasoned assistance. Her banal dialog, a gross disservice to Dickens, is peppered liberally with hoary and anachronistic one-liners like something out of "Happy Days," and, no, I'm not talking Beckett here. Warren Carlyle's broad direction and staging certainly don't do Santoriello's words any favors.

As for Santoriello's music, well, it mostly comprises virtually tuneless recitative, undistinguished ballads, and bland drinking songs. I will admit that there were a few tunes that stuck in my head, but mostly because I had heard them before. Santoriello appears to have subconsciously lifted a melody or two from Andrew Lloyd Webber. (How's that for irony?) One motif comes directly from "Growltiger's Last Stand" in Cats. ("Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone...")

I will concede that A Tale of Two Cities has a compelling story to tell, but only because we're dealing with Dickens, for heaven's sake. Even so, the big-picture plot points in the musical are cloudy: the motivation for the entire French Revolution would appear to have been the death of one child. And it's not entirely clear why the mob decides to storm the Bastille. As for the storyline itself, Satoriello employs clumsy, plodding expository techniques to relay key developments. "Did you hear, Carton? The Jujamcyns are already looking for another tenant for the Hirshfeld," and the like.

As is true of most musical disasters, there are some talented performers in the mix, including Greg Edelman, (whose wife Carolee Carmello was one of the only things worth watching in Lestat), Aaron Lazar, and James Barbour, but the most professional thing on stage is Tony Walton's economical yet visually impressive set, a modular wonder that sets an ominous tone. Unfortunately, the portent that looms over A Tale of Two Cities is its all-too-likely imminent demise. It makes me wonder how many of the reviews will feature some variant on "The worst of times" in their headlines.

Bets, anyone?