Theatre in Review: Wonderland (Marquis Theatre) The two people most responsible for putting the wonder in Wonderland are Neil Patel and Sven Ortel. Assigned the task of taking Broadway audiences through the looking glass into Lewis Carroll's famous, and possibly overly familiar, world of magical transformations, bizarrely inverted values, and sudden peril, the designers respond with gusto. Patel surrounds the action in a series of elaborate 19th-century picture frames that he fills with summery arrays of flowers and shrubbery, a stately Victorian study, an al-fresco tea party festooned with fairy lights, and an elaborate conveyance for the Queen of Hearts, which resembles a gazebo mounted on a giant pair of wheels. Ortel's animated projections go to work even before the overture, with images on the show curtain of tea cakes leaping across a table, a caterpillar attached to his hookah, and sentences from Carroll's novel spinning around and forming elaborate arabesques.(They get a big assist from the warm, saturated palette of Paul Gallo's lighting.) Thanks to their inventions, especially their ability to play with notions of size and scale, this Wonderland feels like a place where anything can happen. This is good, because, in most other ways, this new musical version of Alice in Wonderland is sadly predictable. Thanks to the libretto by Gregory Boyd (who also directed) and Jack Murphy, the musical is less a tribute to Carroll's fantastical novellas and more a mishmash of ideas left over from other Broadway musicals, including The Wiz and Wicked. In their version, Alice is a thirtysomething New Yorker, a frustrated children's author with a daughter to raise and a marriage on the rocks. Stunned to see the White Rabbit pass through her apartment building, she takes the service elevator to you-know-where. This leads directly into one of the stranger numbers, "Welcome to Wonderland," in which the entire company -- women and men alike -- leap around the stage dressed as Alice, as seen in the famous John Tenniel drawings. This idea is immediately dropped and I can't say I wasn't grateful. Anyway, most of Act I introduces Alice's Oz-like companions -- in addition to the White Rabbit, there are the Caterpillar, the Cheshire Cat, and Jack, the White Knight - who vow to help her get home. (Just as in The Wiz, Alice gets a soulful ballad called "Home," in which we learn, among other things, that "home is like a smile you see in a photograph" -- whatever that means.) Alice tangles briefly with the imperious and self-adoring Queen of Hearts, who is feared for her tendency to send others to the chopping block for the most trivial of reasons, but the real trouble arrives in the form of the Mad Hatter, here portrayed as a slinky villainess who wants to usurp control of Wonderland from the Queen. The Mad Hatter also suffers from a blind, unreasoning hatred of Alice, for reasons that are revealed in the second act, when the action turns severely Jungian -- in a pop psychology way. (I won't go into it except to note that Alice is forced to both face her dark side and to hug her inner child.) Punctuating the action are the sort of out-of-date gags that suggest Wonderland has been in development for a long, long time. "Is this some kind of reality show?" Alice asks, getting her first look at Wonderland. Picking up the famous bottle that says, "Drink me," Alice notes that it says, "Drink responsibly." When the Mad Hatter kidnaps Chloe's daughter, the little girl cracks, "You're looking at such a lawsuit." "I'm the best thing since sliced head," boasts the Queen, before launching into a number in which she asserts that she is "bootylicious." Jack, the White Knight, is accompanied by four male backup singers, because each of his numbers is a spoof of boy-band histrionics. The only thing about the show that doesn't scream 1999 is a swipe at the political Tea Party, which got the biggest laugh of the evening. The numbers, by Frank Wildhorn, rely on simple pop hooks and Hallmarlk-ready lyrics. ("Finding Wonderland is/finding who you are/The child within/who's always been/There like a shining star") or laughably melodramatic ("I'll write the ending of your tragic fairy tale"). No matter how unmemorable the melody, however, the composer manages to get a big hand by climaxing with one or two notes belted from here to eternity, allowing the singer to indulge in the kind of screaming that always gets you voted to the next level on American Idol. The sound designer, Peter Hylenski, has been made a party to these antics, as each finale-level anthem is cranked up to an ear-splitting level. Whatever is less-than-wonderful about Wonderland isn't the fault of the hard-working cast. As Alice, Janet Dacal is a likably natural presence with a big, warm voice. Darren Ritchie's Jack is hamstrung by his material, but he's genial and he sings beautifully. (He needs to work on that English accent, however, for his Act II appearance as Lewis Carroll, who shows up for reasons I can't possibly explain). Jose Llana does his best by the Cheshire Cat in the face of an overworked running gag about the loss of his powers of invisibility. Kate Shindle is suitably menacing as the Mad Hatter, although she is saddled with some of the silliest material. As the Queen of Hearts, Karen Mason, a true pro, does everything a woman can do to sell a number called "Off With Their Heads," but it's no sale; a smarter composer would have said, "Off with that song," and given her some better material. All of them are dressed in Susan Hilferty's amusingly inventive costumes, which blend notions of modern couture with ideas from the original Tenniel illustrations. I must admit that Wonderland seemed to please the audience at the performance I attended, many of whom had small children in tow. As a big, shiny, undemanding family outing, I guess it might pass muster. But if you're a real musical theatre fan -- the sort of person who prefers a coherent, emotionally engaging book and a varied score with well-rhymed lyrics that advance the story -- count on Wonderland being a noisy, enervating, and slightly dispiriting experience.--David Barbour 
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