Theatre in Review: Bunty Berman Presents (The New Group)

	Sorab Wadia and Nick Choksi. Photo Monique Carboni

People often look down on those who create musical comedy for a living, as if it were naturally the province of simpletons. In fact, it is an exacting discipline that requires highly developed skills and a strong point of view. Ayub Khan Din is a fine playwright whose comedies East is East and Rafta, Rafta are acutely detailed chronicles of the struggles of South Asians in modern British society. However, in serving as the librettist, lyricist, and co-composer (with Paul Bogaev) of Bunty Berman Presents, he has succumbed to the notion that where-are-we-headed plotting and anything-for-a-laugh gagging are the keys to musical comedy nirvana.

With its purposely convoluted plot -- mixing farce, thriller, and romantic comedy elements - Bunty Berman Presents has one foot in Bollywood, and with its wheezy gags and uptempo nightclub-revue-style score, it resembles many bubble-headed West End musicals of the '50s and '60s -- shows like Divorce Me, Darling! and Grab Me a Gondola -- which perhaps Khan Din heard while growing up in Salford (outside of Manchester) in the 1960s. In any case, it's clear that social realism has been left far behind when the cast enters, belting "It's great to wake up in Bombay," adding, "At the birth of our new nation/We're ahead of the rest/We exude sophistication/By the way that we dress/Even Gandhi wore some denim and a little white vest!" The chorus includes Indians of all castes, including a beggar missing one arm, who waves his single jazz hand with enthusiasm.

Anyway, the plot: Bunty Berman is the king of Bollywood, turning out epics like Gandhi: Rage Against the Raj. His last several films have bombed at the box office, however, and the banks are ready to cut him off, even when he touts his next project: "A story with a social conscience, ten songs, and a spectacular dance with elephants. In short, sir, think Gone with the Wind meets Sabu the Elephant Boy." His biggest problem is that Raj Dhawan, his aging, plump, bewigged leading man, has become an untouchable at the box office. When Raj takes a powder and the money dries up, Bunty turns to Shankar Dass, aka the Mattress King, a mobster who needs a place to launder his rupees. His proviso: Bunty must promise to make a star out of Shankar's son, a talentless playboy with Oedipal issues, who, taking advantage of a clause in his contract, seizes control of the studio for himself.

There's more, but life is short; let me add that the happy ending is achieved through transvestism and manslaughter. Many of the jokes were coined around the time the Taj Mahal went up: One of Bunty's lieutenants, trying to make the best of Shankar's son, says, "You said yourself, you can't judge a book by its cover." "I said the same thing about Mein Kampf," snaps Bunty. Raj, disguised as a blind female soothsayer -- nobody notices his mustache -- announces, "I have travelled far across sandy desert wastes to show you my balls." While everyone performs the requisite double take, he adds, "Let me get 'em out; they're impressive." When Raj says he is Jewish, someone asks, "A Jew?" to which the response is, yes, "Gesundheit." Bunty, bemused by all these goings-on, mutters, "Is it me, or is life beginning to sound like one of my movies?" Yes, Bunty, and not one of the hits.

Under the artistic direction of Scott Elliott (a former musical theatre performer), you can bet that three men dressed in burkas will, sooner or later, do the can-can. (The choreography is by Josh Prince.) And the cast plays with a certain slam-bang assurance that at times makes the material seem better than it is, especially when everyone is spoofing the clichés of Bunty's formulaic epics. But there are strange lapses as well; the first act ends with a big Jerry Herman-style number, "Let's Make a Movie," which by all rights should send the audience into the intermission on a high note. However, the number is interrupted by a lengthy pause during which the cast heads offstage for a costume change; the audience is left to view a montage of scenes of Bollywood pictures. By the time everyone returns for the big finish, the momentum has dissipated; it's a strange case of the director and choreographer virtually committing sabotage on a song.

Khan Din joined the cast during previews, when his predecessor was injured; he does his best to evoke Bunty's bluff, boastful manner ("Wasn't I the one who put six monsoons in one picture?") but he never becomes the kind of comically outsized ego the show needs. (Oddly, there is no "I want" song early on to help clarify Bunty's character, his drive to make movies, and his hold over his employees.) There are, however, lively contributions from Gayton Scott, as the secretary who finally takes off her glasses and shows Bunty what he's been missing all along; Sevan Greene, as Bunty's socialist head screenwriter (who, when a rickshaw driver wants a bigger tip, predictably grumbles, "It's people like you who give the proletariat a bad name!"); Nick Choksi, as a tea boy who wants to become a star; and Lipica Shah, as the current queen of the lot, who hates playing love scenes with the overstuffed Raj. As Raj, Sorab Wadia is the closest thing to an authentic musical comedy clown Bunty Berman Presents has, although I doubt he'll look back at the moment when his sticks his head out of the rear end of a papier-mâché elephant as a career highlight.

It all unfolds on Derek McLane's rundown studio setting, which takes in a number of lovely details, especially the art deco desk in Bunty's office. Wendall K. Harrington layers on a procession of amusing images, beginning with the Bunty Berman logo, a parody of MGM with a cow in the middle, and taking in bits of Bollywood films, scenic vistas of nightclub interiors, and the entryway to the Bunty Berman lot. David Lander's meticulous lighting ranges from a cold white studio work light look to fantastic pink washes for some of the numbers. Acme Sound Partners have provided discreet reinforcement for the songs plus amusing recreations of various Bollywood soundtracks.

It's all as cheerful as it is idiotic, and I must admit that many in the audience at the performance I attended were won over by the finale. But now that he has this musical under his belt, I hope Ayub Khan Din is ready to get back to what he does best and leave the musicals to the professionals.--David Barbour