Theatre in Review: Only Gold (MCC Theater)

	Karine Plantadit, Terrence Mann, Gaby Diaz. Photo: Daniel J. Vasquez

I don't know why Paris must constantly take it on the chin from our musical theatre makers, but the blows keep coming. From the mislaid charm of An American in Paris to the cloying whimsies of Amélie and the blizzard of sequins that is Moulin Rouge, the world's most beautiful city keeps getting misrepresented to the point of libel. Now comes Only Gold, a purported new-style dance musical that, despite impressive physical contortions and contemporary-sounding score, is constructed out of some notably picked-over materials.

Try this plot on for size: It is 1928. The unhappily wed King Belenus and Queen Roksana of "Cosimo" -- one of those fictional countries located somewhere east of Ruritania -- plan to marry off their daughter, Princess Tooba, to Count Zlato. (The character names are one of the show's prime sources of amusement.) Tooba has no interest in becoming Countess Zlato, but her parents drag her off to Paris for a trousseau-shopping expedition. Despite dressing as if attending the Grammy Awards after-party (see the above photo), the king and queen represent the forces of convention, their own love having been ground to dust under the strain of running Cosimo. Or, as we are told, "Responsibilities and expectations weighed them down, tearing them apart until they were nothing more than -- an empty king. A lonely queen."

Of course, Paris has much to teach these jaded royals about La Vie and L'Amour. As mother and daughter make the rounds of Chanel and other fashion houses, Belenus, desperate to rekindle his marriage, scours the city, looking for the jeweler who made the necklace, now lost, that symbolizes his early happy days with Roksana. Meanwhile, Tooba starts stepping out with Jacques, the bellboy assigned to guide her around town. Is her forbidden love for real? As Tooba, that little phrasemaker, notes, "I never knew it could feel like this."

It's the perfect setup for a Rudolf Friml operetta from 1922, with script notes from Barbara Cartland, and what co-authors Andy Blankenbuehler and Ted Malawer were thinking of is anyone's guess. The script is loaded with woozily uplifting aphorisms like, "It's hard, isn't it? To listen to that voice deep inside of you." Or this: "If your heart called out, first a whisper, then a scream...would you listen?" Or this: "They were the picture of perfection. But no matter if you're a king or a queen or a woman keeping house -- the picture is only part of the story. Deep down is where you'll find the truth." Next to this, John Logan's book for Moulin Rouge sounds like something whipped up by the entire Académie Française.

The authors introduce a mildly contemporary note in a subplot involving Henri, whose late father made that necklace that Belenus can't stop obsessing over. But because his dad's "dreams starved us," Henri has taken up a practical career as a clockmaker. Belenus, who won't take no for an answer, underwrites a new jewelry-making business and in no time -- about a week and a half by my count -- Henri is the toast of Paris, holding press conferences and running around with society's crème de la crème. This depresses his wife, Camille, a would-be concert pianist who languishes because of the dearth of female role models; try telling that to Nadia Boulanger and Cécile Chaminade, among others. This narrative thread provides my favorite exchange. Roksana: "Belenus, is it true what they're saying? You've hired a watch maker to fluff you up?" Belenus: "I hardly need fluffing, thank you." I should say not!

Keeping track of all this tsuris is Kate Nash, the show's songwriter and narrator, who, often seated at a piano, offers up those little nuggets of information normally known as the subtext. Her songs constitute a soundtrack, not a score, being a collection of moody melodies with lyrics so vague they can fit any situation. "You never know when you're young/How complicated life can become," Nash sings. (So true!) Or, as Jacques tells Belenus, "It was hour after hour/Now we're after power/Once I was [a] flower/And now that flower's dead to me/And I feel kind of sour." (Pity Nash couldn't work in "bower," "cower," or "tower.")

The show's true raison d'être is its parade of production numbers. Only Gold is a bid by Blankenbuehler, who also directed and choreographed, to establish himself as a musical theatre auteur à la Michael Bennett or Bob Fosse. The dancing, a bold mix of ballet and jazz gestures, is exciting, at least initially: I particularly liked the lineup of working-class men, cigarettes dangling from their lips, who make up Henri's new work force, and the dream ballet that details Roksana's late-night thoughts. But as number after number quickly blows up into a big ensemble workout, a certain sameness sets in. This is dance as virtuosic display, not in the service of storytelling.

The cast breaks down into those who can take care of themselves and those held hostage by the book and lyrics. Terrence Mann gives Belenus a modicum of dignity, despite his boneheaded ideas about love and honor; with his perfect diction, he cuts through Cian McCarthy's orchestrations more effectively than anyone else onstage. As Roksana, Karine Plantadit can captivate with a simple leg extension; add in her erect bearing and a luxurious mane of hair extending down her back and she looks capable of running any monarchy. But, as Tooba and Jacques, the assured dancers Gaby Diaz and Ryan Steele barely register as characters. The same is true of Ryan VanDenBoom and Hannah Cruz as Henry and Camille; we can discuss their acting skills when they actually have characters to play. The ensemble, loaded with Broadway veterans like Tyler Hanes and Thayne Jasperson, performs with remarkable expertise; if you can accept Only Gold as a glorified choreographic concert, you might have a pretty good time.

David Korins' set design, a riot of Art Nouveau details dominated by a sweeping staircase, strikes the right note of Gallic style. Aside from a couple of overbearing moments, Jeff Croiter's lighting blends classic dance sidelight with layers of saturated color and the judicious use of spinning patterns. Anita Yavich's costumes try to straddle the difference between 1928 and 2022, dressing the ladies of the chorus in cutaway-skirt-and-ripped jeans combinations or black, ruffled, see-through petticoats; it's a procession of head-scratchers. Sound designer Nevin Steinberg, working with a live band being piped in from the theatre next door, has a bit of trouble keeping the voices on top of the music, although Nash, with her blurry vocal deliver, doesn't give him much help.

Only Gold climaxes in a riot of romantic reunions and/or self-actualizations; suddenly, nobody is too worried about the crowns on their uneasy heads. (Maybe Cosimo can have a revolution or something,) But this piece of Frenchified nonsense left me feeling, as they say, blasé. In the words of Cole Porter, "And until you've lived a lot/And loved a lot and lost a lot/You don't know Paree." This crew certainly doesn't. --David Barbour