By Ciara LaVelle
By Jose D. Duran
By Kat Bein
By Juan Barquin
By Ciara LaVelle
By George Martinez
By Kat Bein
By Ciara LaVelle
Having seen neither the New York nor London versions, I approached the show at Broward with fresh eyes and a great deal of hope. Possibly too much. It is unwise these days to have high expectations for a mass product that opened in New York three years ago with the largest advance ticket sales in Broadway history: $37 million. In London Miss Saigon has become the greatest musical success at Drury Lane's Theatre Royal since a far better show appeared there: My Fair Lady. It appears I have a problem with such mega crowd-pleasers, possessed as I am by an aversion to the mob mentality and fervent hype. Not least when the actual product is less than first-rate. For that I am thankful, even though it's usually a mixed blessing.
Undoubtedly many people will love Miss Saigon and disagree with my assessment. I certainly don't condemn them for that. The lighting, set design, and effects are extraordinary, easily the most impressive I've ever seen. A helicopter lands and takes off on-stage, though not a real one as in London. Cars float out of the heavens. A barren landscape is suddenly transformed into a bustling street in Bangkok, bursting with neon lights and scantily clad ladies of the night. An eighteen-foot-high statue of Ho Chi Minh dominates an elaborately staged marching scene. The choreography inhabiting these landscapes is equally remarkable. Before the helicopter arrives to whisk away U.S. soldiers during the fall of Saigon, a complex set of chases and escapes, frantically enacted by soldiers and Vietnamese attempting to flee, sets the scene magnificently. I loved the spectacle.
For those who cry at love stories with tragic endings, Miss Saigon will also deftly dampen their handkerchiefs. Based on Puccini's opera Madama Butterfly, the action A and there is plenty of it A is updated and flips back and forth between Saigon and Bangkok from 1975 to 1978. Shortly before the transformation of Saigon into Ho Chi Minh City, a starry-eyed American GI named Chris falls in love with Kim, an orphaned Vietnamese innocent. Kim migrates to Saigon in a daze, stunned by witnessing the destruction of her village and the brutal death of her parents, and falls into the clutches of the Engineer, a seedy Eurasian specializing in prostitution. Before she can lose her virginity to some drunken American lout, Chris takes her for the night and romance quickly blossoms. After two weeks together, they regard each other as man and wife, and Chris promises to take Kim back to America with him.
In the chaos of the hasty evacuation, however, they are cruelly separated. Kim is left behind and Chris believes her to be dead. He ends up married to a sweet American girl, Ellen, and relives his time with Kim only through nightmares. Kim fares much worse. To survive among the Communists she hides out and scrapes together a living, hanging on for only two reasons: her almost fanatical belief that Chris will return to rescue her, and her love for their young son, conceived during their brief romance. The situation deteriorates, and the ending is anything but happy.
That's also how I felt upon leaving the theater. Much of the action and plotting was highly effective, but the slim melodies, forced singsong dialogue, and several drawn-out scenes rife with overwrought acting were not. Portions of Miss Saigon were fascinating, but most of it was simply tedious.
Claude-Michel SchĒnberg's melodies for the song fragments (for they are certainly not complete songs) such as "The Movie in My Mind," "Why God Why," and "I Still Believe" won't stay with you for any length of time, though they are charming when ably sung by the cast. But unfortunately there is not even one outstanding tune among the 23 included in Miss Saigon.
A more troublesome aspect of the show's musicality is that the entire script is sung, sometimes to rather ridiculous effect. Imagine making up a simple melody of random notes to fit under this review. Then sing the words to the review over the music. Good luck trying to force them to mesh. You'll get more than two hours of that from lyricists Alain Boublil and Richard Maltby, Jr. For someone who truly loves great songs in a musical, this conceit becomes downright annoying, especially when the words are awkwardly wedged between beats, and the dialogue sometimes consists of nothing more than "Hello, then," or "I'm going out now." It's fake opera, pure and simple, and not well constructed at that.