Theatre in Review: Beware of Young Girls: Kate Dimbleby Sings the Dory Previn Story (59E59) Kate Dimbleby has done us a favor in highlighting the neglected song catalog of Dory Previn. Perhaps because she came into her own at a time - the early '70s - when distinctive singer/songwriters cropped up practically every week, Previn never achieved the fame of Carole King, Carly Simon, or Laura Nyro. Or perhaps her confessional songs were too extreme even for that anything-goes era. (This was a time when singers, especially the ladies, poured out their hearts in a way that goes far beyond, say, Taylor Swift's hatchet jobs on ex-boyfriends of six months or less.) In any case, she left behind a golden vein of material that cries out to be heard again. The richness of Previn's work came at a price, as it is rooted in the details of a life scarred by heartbreak and mental illness. The very fact of her birth, into a troubled New Jersey Irish-Catholic family, was a source of controversy: Her father was apparently rendered sterile by mustard gas in World War I, leaving the question of her paternity permanently up in the air. (Cue "My Daddy Says I Ain't His Child.") Father and daughter finally bonded over her early attempts at becoming an entertainer - she was the rare show business hopeful with a stage father - but it took years for her to realize that songwriting was her true gift. By the time she wrote the lyrics for "You're Gonna Hear from Me," for the film Inside Daisy Clover, she knew whereof she spoke. Even then, she didn't click until she was paired with composer/conductor/all-around musical genius André Previn, turning out theme songs for movies with increasing success. Before long, they were paired in their personal lives, too: "Perfect Man" describes her wonderment at landing such a spectacular creature, even after having confessed her nervous breakdown-filled past. Of course, the song ends in disillusionment, as did the marriage, when, in the late '60s, Mia Farrow helped herself to André Previn, eventually becoming his third wife. Although it interesting to recall a time when Farrow's public profile was that of a doe-eyed homewrecker and not the saintly and permanently aggrieved ex-partner of Woody Allen, Beware of Young Girls goes overboard in portraying her as the personification of evil; in a show filled with evocative projections, one features Farrow glowering into the camera, looking more like the star of The Exorcist than of Rosemary's Baby. Another image of her is accompanied by a bit of Bernard Herrmann's theme from Psycho. Dimbleby never stops to consider that, for André Previn, marriage to a diagnosed schizophrenic may simply have been more than he bargained for. It's fitting that the Previns' partnership ended with the theme from Valley of the Dolls; it was their first million-seller and its deeply introspective lyrics, redolent of addiction and psychic torment, pointed the way to the rest of her career. The breakup triggered her most devastating episode- she had to be removed from an airplane-from which she emerged a different person. The nicely put-together woman in neatly coiffed pixie cuts and smart suits morphed into a middle-aged hippie with aviator glasses and a truly impressive Afro. The songs, for which she wrote both words and music, tell the story even more bluntly: The highly professional wordsmith, turning out pert lyrics for the likes of Doris Day ("Control Yourself"), became the fearless explorer of a personal landscape populated by demons. "Twenty Mile Zone" is a vivid account of her crack up, beginning with the image of her driving down a road screaming. The English Dimbleby, with her poised, ladylike persona, would seem to be the last person to take on this material, but she clearly loves and respects Previn. She uses her strong middle and lower ranges to mine the songs' considerable anger, and turns her slightly reedy top notes to her advantage, signaling the terrible vulnerability buried inside them. And what songs they are: "Mary C. Brown and the Hollywood Sign" is a view of Tinseltown by way of Nathanael West. ("Give me your poor/Your tired, your pimps/Your carhops, your cowboys/Your midgets, your chimps.") "Lemon-Haired Ladies" is another, equally jaundiced, view of Hollywood's notion of beauty. "Left Hand Lost" recalls the permanent sense of alienation that began when the nuns forced her to become right-handed. She takes a crowbar to the pieties of her Catholic upbringing in "Did Jesus Have a Baby Sister?" And revenge has rarely been as sweet as it is in "Beware of Young Girls," her hit job on Farrow ("Beware of young girls/Who come to the door/Wistful and pale/Of twenty and four"). Dimbleby's delivery is never too polished to obscure the pain underneath the words and she is neatly accompanied by the pianist Naadia Sheriff, who shares with her the duties of narration. She also takes evident joy in relating her story's happy ending: Previn eventually settled down with the actor Joby Baker, providing her with a third act marked by hard-won contentment. A canny piece of counterprogramming for those who are weary of holiday cheer, it is well worth a visit. If you know Previn's work, you'll be pleased to experience it in such good hands. If you don't, you have a revelation waiting for you .--David Barbour 
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