Theatre in Review: The Last Ship (Neil Simon Theatre)

	Michael Esper. Photo: Joan Marcus

A way of life comes to an end, but not before one last valedictory gesture must be made in The Last Ship. Cutting against the grain of most recent Broadway musicals, with their thick veneer of glitter and their wiseacre's attitude about show business, the new show at the Neil Simon is a tale of shattered dreams and broken promises, of working-class men and women who, if they must surrender control of their community's destiny, insist on making a statement about their dignity, even if no one is there to listen. And yes, to answer the question that everyone is wondering about: Sting proves to be first-rate composer/lyricist for the musical theatre. More about that in a moment.

We are in Wallsend, near Newcastle upon Tyne, in the northeast of England, sometime in the 1980s. (The creators of The Last Ship have been purposely vague about the time frame, according to interviews, in order to avoid making blunt political statements à la Billy Elliot; this, I think, is a mistake, as a more detailed view of the mise-en-scène would add to its reality.) The community has existed to build ships, but those days are gone. As someone notes, it is now easier and cheaper to do the same work in Asia, and most of the time the men of Wallsend are forced to live on the dole. A way out of sorts is presented when Newlands, a corporation, buys the shipyard and announces a plan to turn it into a scrap metal operation. But for workers who, for generations, have taken pride in adding something to the world in the form of great vessels, this is unacceptable, a slap in the face. (It is also suggested that the work will be far less skilled and pay much less, as well.)

Goaded by Father O'Brien (Fred Applegate), the local Catholic priest, the workers seize control of the shipyard and set about building one more ship. This project may be financed by embezzled parish funds and kept alive largely by blackmailing Newlands with the threat of bad publicity, and the ship may have no purpose other than to take its builders on a first and last cruise -- most of them have never traveled on the water before -- but if all they can do is make one last statement about their worth to the world, then, by God, they will do it, and damn the cost.

Striking a tone of defiance and regret, and peopled with characters bent on manufacturing hope where none exists, The Last Ship immediately makes a case for itself as a distinctive and gripping musical drama. The book, by John Logan and Brian Yorkey, weaves a web of relationships that details its characters' failings and sorrows in unusually clear-eyed fashion. Michael Esper is Gideon, who fled Wallsend 15 years before, having refused to follow in his abusive father's footsteps to work in the shipyard. Gideon vowed to make something of himself and return for Meg (Rachel Tucker), the girl he loves. Now, having missed his father's funeral by a couple of days, he offers to make good on his promise to Meg. But too many years have passed -- Gideon, by his own admission, never managed to become anything more than a third-class seaman; Meg, hardened by years of struggle, works as a barmaid and lives with the devoted Arthur (Aaron Lazar); she is also the mother of 15-year-old Tom. (You do the math.)

As the ship project gets underway, everyone is forced to take sides. Gideon, who lived in horror of becoming a shipbuilder, suddenly decides to lead the effort. Meg's sympathies are with the workers, but she must side with Arthur, who saw which way the world was going and has already taken a position with Newlands. Tom joins the workers against Meg's wishes, and finds himself torn between Arthur, who has raised him, and Gideon, who is stunned to discover that he has a son. And Meg must confront the mixed, yet lingering, feelings about Gideon that have prevented her from moving on with her life. These personal problems are intertwined with the deeper, more ontological, questions that run throughout the action. As someone says, "Where's a man to find his dignity without his work?" Or, as Father O'Brien says, "A man's work is a sacrament, isn't it? An outward sign of inward grace."

Adding emotional ballast to this often-dark tale is Sting's score, which provides a river of melody -- inflected with bits of Celtic folk tunes and French chanson -- accompanied by pertinent, thoughtful lyrics that probe the characters and their dilemmas. The title song strikes exactly the right note of pride and mourning. "All This Time" beautifully details Gideon's return, as he sees his home through new eyes. "If You Ever See Me Talking to a Sailor" is Meg's bluntly assertive response to Gideon's appearance. "What Say You, Meg?" is a beautifully open-hearted ballad for Arthur. Possibly the most gripping number is "Ghost Story," in which men of two generations pour out their anger at and frustrated love for their fathers. I was especially taken with "It's Not the Same Moon," in which Meg gently points out to Gideon that loving the girl she was 15 years ago is not at all the same thing as loving the woman she is now.

The entire cast inhabits this working-class world with remarkable skill and beautiful voices. Esper's Gideon is haunted by unresolved angers and dreams of lost love; you are always aware of the broken man inside. Tucker's Meg is a plainspoken woman who is rattled to find herself looking back with longing at an affair that she thought was over long ago; for once in a musical, it's not immediately clear which man she will choose. Jimmy Nail, a native of Newcastle, brings tremendous authority to the role of Jackie, the foreman who supervises the building of the ship. Aaron Lazar's Arthur is a genuinely decent man caught up in a battle he hoped to avoid. Applegate smoothly underplays both Father O'Brien's wisecracks and his physical frailty. (The character is seriously ill.) Sally Ann Triplett brings conviction and a big voice to the role of Peggy, Jackie's tough-minded wife. And Collin Kelly-Sordelet makes a striking debut as both Tom and the young Gideon.

Joe Mantello's direction is muscular when necessary -- in a reunion that turns into a barroom brawl, a wake that becomes a raucous celebration, and the first-act finale, when the men rush the gate of the shuttered shipyard -- and equally assured in the quieter, more introspective moments. He is aided in all things by the choreographer Steven Hoggett, who once again finds a movement vocabulary to suit the characters, especially in the defiant stomps and sideways steps he has devised for "We've Got Now't Else," which becomes a kind of workers' anthem.

This is the biggest, and most complex, project the designer, David Zinn, has had on Broadway and he provides The Last Ship with the kind of rough, hard-edged environment needed. The walls at stage right and stage left are dark brick, with staircases attached. The upstage wall is rusted, peeling metal, suggestive of a ship's hull. Also upstage are two tower units, with a gallery level. A bridge can fly in as needed, as does a metal fence unit that represents the shipyard's gate. And when the time comes to reveal the ship, it is achieved in a neat coup de théâtre with scenery and projections. (His costumes are also solid, although I think they suffer just a bit from the lack of specificity about time mentioned above.) Christopher Akerlind's stunning lighting design carves out environments using two or three beams and blasts the stage with strong bursts of white light from the side; his work adds tremendous dimensionality to Zinn's already impressive design. Brian Ronan's sound design is a bit on the loud side at times, but it preserves the intelligibility of Sting's often complex lyrical schemes.

The Last Ship is in some ways a counterintuitive project for today's Broadway. Its humor is muted, its love story markedly lacking in starry-eyed notions. It guides its characters to a kind of triumph, but the future for them is, at best, uncertain. Yet by tackling big questions and filling the stage with honestly conflicted characters, and by exploring them with compelling music and intelligent lyrics, it reminds us that musical theatre can make for remarkably adult entertainment. Sting and his collaborators can rightly be proud of the ship they have built.--David Barbour