Theatre in Review: Daddy Long Legs (Davenport Theatre)

	Paul Alexander Nolan, Megan McGinnis. Photo: Jeremy Daniel

Clearly, Paul Gordon has a thing about orphans. The composer-lyricist's resume includes the 2000 Broadway musical Jane Eyre, featuring one of the most benighted (and parentless) heroines in nineteenth-century literature, and Sense and Sensibility, seen in Chicago last spring. (Yes, I know Jane Austen's Dashwood sisters aren't, strictly speaking, orphans, but the death of their father certainly leaves them in a pretty mess, as I'm sure you'll agree.) Now comes Daddy Long Legs, a highly implausible Edwardian fairytale about a young woman, deprived of family, whose fortunes are stunningly altered, from afar, by a total stranger. It's a pure example of high artifice from the summer of America's pre-World War I innocence, and, in the hands of Gordon and John Caird, his bookwriter/director, it is far more charming and nuanced than it has any right to be.

Jean Webster's 1912 classic of girls' literature is an epistolary novel and the musical daringly retains this two-person, all-letters format. Jerusha Abbott -- her surname, we are told, was a random selection from the phone book, and her given name was taken from a tombstone -- has never known family life. As the lively first number solidly establishes, she is "The Oldest Orphan in the John Grier Home." Having reached college age with no prospects whatsoever, she is surprised to learn that a member of the orphanage's board has taken a highly disinterested interest in her case. Impressed by her school essays, he proposes to put her through Vassar College, with the stipulation that Jerusha is to provide him with a monthly progress report via mail. She is not to expect any replies from him, however. Indeed, she doesn't even know his real name; the letters are to be addressed to "John Smith." His real name is Jervis Pendleton, philanthropist and black sheep of a gilded New York family.

Freed at last from the dreary confines of the institution and sprung from a life of servitude, Jerusha is poised to devour everything the world has to offer. And, from the minute she arrives at school, she pushes against the distant Mr. Smith's constraints, teasing him to the best of her considerable abilities. "Dear Kind Trustee Who Sends Orphans to College," she begins her first missive, before deciding that a better name might be "Mr. Girl Hater." Nevertheless, she very quickly charms him with her tales of college life. She speculates at length about his age -- surely he is 80 years old, at least -- and the color of his hair, or the altogether lack of it. Little does she know that her benefactor is Jervis Pendleton, a youngish and extremely handsome philanthropist; even less does she understand that, thanks to her letters, he is falling in love with her.

It is no small help that Megan McGinnis, as Jerusha, projects enough radiance to power a small solar system. Even when detailing the disasters wrought by her sheer lack of worldly knowledge ("Somebody mentioned Florence Nightingale and I asked if she was a freshman"), there's a steady sparkle in her eyes, and a flash of defiance in her manner that makes it clear she is not to be dismissed. She is soon making lists of everything she must learn about, including Great Expectations, The Two Noble Kinsmen, and Lillian Russell. She also shows a sharp eye for the follies of others. Describing a roommate who comes from the Edith Wharton sector of New York society, she says, "Her mother was a Rutherford. They came over on the ark."

Imagine Jervis' alarm when he realizes that the young lady on the receiving end of this comment is none other than his own niece. He has no use for the little social climber, either -- and yet she proves useful. When it appears that, as college girls will do, Jerusha begins to take a healthy interest in college boys, he swoops down on Vassar, allegedly on a family visit; thus he insinuates himself into Jerusha's life. Now, however, he is caught: As Jervis, he cannot pursue her without the truth coming out about Mr. Smith. As Mr. Smith, he is driven to stage-manage Jerusha's life, for example, packing her off to the country for the summer to keep her out of any male clutches. And he is mortified to read her letters, which contain her unbridled opinions about ... Jervis. As he painfully wonders, "Am I fostering her education -- or reading someone else's mail?"

What makes Daddy Long Legs such a joy, and allows it to speak to a contemporary audience, is watching Jerusha blossom into a woman with a heart and mind of her own. McGinnis deftly nails each step on the road to her character's maturity. We see her breezily returning to college for her second year. ("It's lovely looking down on all the freshmen.") She asserts her own theory of men, comparing them to cats. ("They purr if you rub them the right way, and they spit if you don't.") Filled with a desire to do good, she also develops an acid appreciation of the Pendleton family's empty display of wealth. ("I don't believe an idea has ever entered their front door.") By the time she announces, "Hurray, I'm a Fabian; that's a socialist who is willing to wait," she has become a witty, formidable creature, well on the way to completing her first novel. Jervis, pondering what began as an arm's-length act of charity is left to wonder, "Who is helping whom?"

Thus, what might have been a retro Cinderella story, complete with a trust-fund prince, becomes something more, thanks to a book and score filled with delicately rendered, yet telling, details, and a cast capable of engaging in Jerusha and Jervis' complicated psychological foxtrot. Although Jervis necessarily lacks the broad palette of colors used to create Jerusha, Paul Alexander Nolan makes him into a most appealingly flawed hero, whether he is dropping a three-pound box of chocolates like a bomb in order to announce his presence, rushing the dazzled Jerusha through a frantic tour of Manhattan, or, lost in thought, contemplating the impossible emotional tangle he has created for himself. Nolan has an exceptionally fine vocal instrument; he makes the most of his few big numbers, more often blending with McGinnis' silvery soprano to fine effect.

The action unfolds on David Farley's attractive set, depicting Jervis' book-lined study, which is lit with warmth and sensitivity by Cory Pattak, working off of Paul Toben's original design. Farley also provided the beautifully tailored costumes, which make their own contribution to detailing Jerusha's growing sophistication. Peter Fitzgerald's sound design is a bit over the top -- is this level of reinforcement really necessary in a theatre this small, with only keyboard, guitar, and cello in the band? -- but one quickly adjusts to it.

In honoring their source material, the authors may sometimes have overindulged a bit; the leisurely first act is a little too meticulous about making, and remaking, its points. And the admirable unity of the score means that few of the numbers stand out, although there are two attractive ballads, "The Color of Your Eyes" and "The Secret of Happiness." There's also the charmingly uptempo "My Manhattan" and a surprisingly bitter lament for Jervis, "I Have Torn You from My Heart." Still, everyone involved eloquently explores the contours of this strange relationship, in which intimacy and distance share an embrace, and they provide it with a most satisfying resolution. Daddy Long Legs, for all its occasional air of old lace, proves to be a lovely little thing, and with a surprising amount of gumption, to boot. -- David Barbour