Theatre in Review: Atomic (Theatre Row)For most of us, nuclear physics is a hard subject to understand; even more difficult to grasp is the new musical Atomic. In fact, it's the most baffling proposition to come our way this summer season: The show's three authors decided that the story of the Manhattan Project cried out for conventional book-musical treatment and so they have populated the stage with the singing-dancing likes of Enrico Fermi, J. Robert Oppenheimer, and Leo Szilard. The question, class, is why -- and I suspect you're going to need some pretty sophisticated equations to explain that one. Szilard, the father of the chain reaction and creator of the nuclear reactor, is the protagonist, and the show tracks his growing realization of the Faustian bargain he has struck in the pursuit of knowledge. The libretto, by Danny Ginges and Gregory Bonsignore, would have you believe that Szilard and his colleagues never expected the atomic bomb to be used -- in their minds, it was meant to be a bargaining chip with which to pressure the Nazis to make peace. They certainly get a big surprise when Hiroshima is reduced to dust, and, after World War II is over, they become social pariahs. The stuff of powerful drama -- even, possibly, musical drama -- is there, but the authors and their composer/co-lyricist, Philip Foxman, apparently have no idea how to mine it. Szilard is presented as a nuclear cheerleader who emigrates to the US determined to give the Allies the capability to build an atomic bomb. His intentions are the best; he knows that Germany is racing to make a bomb and fully understands the importance of getting there first. At first, there is little government interest in his proposition. But after he pulls a few strings -- his former professor, Albert Einstein, is friends with Eleanor Roosevelt -- the Manhattan Project is underway. This is where Atomic starts to get radioactive -- in the wrong way. Szilard meets Fermi, who enters, exclaiming, "I love Jews." Actually, I thought he said, "I love you." Jonathan Hammond is a fine actor, but he has been charged with playing Fermi as the comic relief and he responds with an accent so thick you half expect him to announce that he is the most happy fella in the whole Napa Valley. He also has a number, "America Amore," which is among the more unfortunate musical comedy songs of our time. A silly, tedious catalogue of the delights of life in the US, it wastes time establishing Fermi as a fool for wine, women, and song, an idea that is all but dropped a minute later. Then again, most of the time the authors struggle to find a role for music to play in their drama; this is because much of the action of Atomic consists of bureaucratic infighting and mathematical calculations, two subjects that are stubbornly resistant to lyric treatment. (There are many, many scenes of people staring meaningfully at charts and blueprints, with little or no explanation.) A lengthy number about how most of the Manhattan Project team consists of heavy drinkers is interesting but doesn't require the lengthy treatment it gets here, plus an encore. Act II opens with a trio of Rosie the Riveter types, singing, à la the Andrews Sisters, a list of the many euphemisms for their classified jobs. A subplot about a soldier who crosses paths with Szilard, and later turns out to be a pilot on the Enola Gay, is sketchily rendered at best. Nor have the show's creators made a case for why a musical about nuclear scientists should consist of hard-driving rock anthems and wailing power ballads. The music sounds both anachronistic and out of synch with the characters. Aside from the clunky lyrics, the inability to find a musical language for this specific material is one of Atomic's biggest drawbacks. Under the direction of Damien Gray, a cast of pros works as well as they can within the limitations of their roles. Jeremy Kushnier gives Szilard some much-needed gravitas, although his good work is frequently undone when he bursts into song. Made up to look like Joan Crawford in one of her '40s suffering roles, Sara Gettelfinger is an imposing figure as Szilard's wife, Trude, but it's thankless work standing around being the hero's conscience. (Her big ballad, "Headlights," is one of the show's weakest.) Randy Harrison is Edward Teller, here reduced to a clichéd stage juvenile. The best work comes from Euan Morton as J. Robert Oppenheimer, who narrates from the vantage point of his testimony before the HUAC; he is, if you will, the Che to Szilard's Evita, and at least the character's bitterness and hindsight wisdom give him something to play. The action unfolds on Neil Patel's set, a 3-D arrangement of cubes that serves as a truss for some of lighting designer David Finn's rig. Finn, who seems to light the audience more than the actor's faces, deploys his automated rig to create a series of outsized effects -- heavy color saturation, rock-concert sweeps, and blinder effects. It's an awful lot of lighting for such a little show; a couple of times, I felt like I was watching one of the laughable "downtown theatre" scenes from the cancelled series Smash. (The upstage wall and part of the overhead rig are covered by light panels -- I think they're Elidys, made by the recently shuttered Chromlech -- which create shimmering effects and also spell out the location of each scene.) Emma Kingsbury's costumes are, necessarily, heavy on the lab coats, and feel accurate to the show's time frame. Jon Weston's sound design is on the loud side, considering that most of the numbers are designed to allow the performers to sing their heads off. There's no question that everyone involved in Atomic is sincere, and one always hates to complain about a show with any ambition. But it is, sadly, a failed experiment in musical historical drama; the results should have everyone involved running back to the drawing board in search of new and more workable concepts. --David Barbour 
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