Theatre in Review: Aladdin (New Amsterdam Theatre)

	James Monroe Inglehart. Photo: Cylla von Tiedemann

It seems ever-clearer that the Disney Theatricals crew is going back to the future. The company's most recent production, Newsies, was conceived firmly in the classic '50s - '60s book musical tradition, and, thanks to a solid libretto, score, and staging, it just celebrated its second year at the Nederlander Theatre. Aladdin, the new and largely delightful new tenant at the New Amsterdam (Disney's flagship playhouse) reaches even farther back in time: It is the very essence of one of the old Bob Hope-Bing Crosby road pictures. Set in a series of studio-bound recreations of various exotic locales, these mini-epics featured the aforementioned stars (plus Dorothy Lamour, running around in a sarong or some other revealing local garb) caught up in preposterous, melodramatic situations, fighting off cardboard villains, and cracking wise anachronistically every step of the way. Aladdin has many of the standard Disney tropes -- including a feisty princess with a wise and doting father, inspirational power ballads, and a be-yourself philosophy aimed directly at the adolescents in the audience. But all of these are overruled by an anarchic sense of fun, courtesy of director/choreographer Casey Nicholaw and an antic cast.

Things start out in dandy fashion with the opener, "Arabian Nights," which announces the fact that we're in for an evening of colorful nonsense à la Kismet; it also provides the first installment of Gregg Barnes' stunning costume parade, a seemingly infinite array of harem pants, turbans, and scarves, all rendered in a Technicolor palette and loaded with patterns, beading, and embroidery. The next number, "One Jump Ahead," introduces Aladdin (Adam Jacobs), a genial thief who runs, jumps, and tumbles around the stage, forever on the lam from the authorities. Jacobs immediately establishes himself as a personable, big-voice leading man with a light comic touch and a smile that radiates to the back row of the balcony.

After that, things bog down a bit, as Chad Beguelin's libretto, based on the animated film, does the heavy lifting of setting up the characters and situations, most of which are all too familiar and set to fairly standard Disney musical power ballads. Aladdin falls hard for Jasmine, who talks the usual Disney princess talk about wanting more out of life but is really stuck with being a kind of pint-size Portia, fending off unwanted suitors, much to the exasperation of her sultan father. (This is nothing against Courtney Reed, who sings beautifully and has a nice chemistry with Jacobs.) This already problematic princess-commoner romance is further complicated by Jafar, the evil grand-vizier type who wants Jasmine, and her throne, for himself. You've seen it all before, but even here, things are livened up considerably by the number "Babkak, Omar, Aladdin, Kassim," in which Aladdin and this thief cohort (a trio of comic charmers played by Brian Gonzales, Brandon O'Neill, and Jonathan Schwartz) cut loose in the marketplace, enacting a four-part harmony of intensively synchronized gestures. The best and most rambunctious parts of Alan Menken's score have plenty of Cab Calloway hi-de-ho, and the lyrics, by Beguelin, the late Howard Ashman, and Tim Rice, often sound like Johnny Mercer in his "Girlfriend of the Whirling Dervish" novelty-song phase. They go a long way toward giving Aladdin, the musical, its distinctive comic profile.

Nicholaw seals the deal near the end of Act I, when Aladdin, having managed to get himself trapped in a gilded cage, conjures the genie out of the lamp. The big challenge of adapting the film has always been how to render the genie -- a frantically shape-shifting creature voiced by a caffeinated Robin Williams -- on stage. James Monroe Iglehart, who looks like Luther Vandross and spits out gags like a machine gun, proves to be just the solution. He presides over the number "Friend Like Me," which may be the most deliriously over-the-top piece of comic choreography to be seen in New York in a long, long time. Nicholaw employs every trick in the book -- dancers shooting up from below deck like popcorn kernels, golden stalagmites that fly open to reveal showgirls, no fewer than three costume changes --and then he gets another book, throwing in a spoof medley of Disney hits, among other things. It's an understatement to say that it rouses the audience to a frenzy. After The Drowsy Chaperone, The Book of Mormon, and now this, there can be little doubt that Nicholaw is the wittiest choreographer working on Broadway at the moment.

The second act pretty much goes from strength to strength, including a sumptuous procession for Aladdin, now turned into a prince, and another corker of a comedy number, "High Adventure," in which Aladdin's sidekicks make like Errol Flynn-style heroes. The topper is the ballad "A Whole New World," featuring Aladdin and Jasmine on a flying carpet against a starlit sky, an effect that sets a new standard for technical achievement in the theatre. It may be the first flying effect ever in which the technology is totally invisible. I'm still trying to figure out how they did it.

In all respects, not just Barnes' costumes, Aladdin looks great. Bob Crowley plays some of his trademark tricks of perspective, with endless desert vistas, a view of the sultan's palace in a reflecting pool, and a private chamber for Jasmine that breaks apart so she and Aladdin can go flying on that carpet. It's a classic design approach, complete with beautifully rendered in-one drops to cover the big set changes, and plenty of drops and sliders reflecting the highly filigreed Arabic architectural style. It goes without saying that the golden cave is a knockout, and Natasha Katz's lighting adds another layer of color and glamour, especially in "Friend Like Me," with its magical starlight effect, and "A Whole New World," with its color changes. She is also remarkably clever about building lighting units into the set to unexpected effect. Ken Travis' sound design manages a big, brassy level of reinforcement while preserving the intelligibility of the lyrics, and he provides plenty of amusing effects, including some occult voices, conjured up by Jafar, that reverberate with plenty of menacing bass notes.

The rest of the cast has tapped into the general air of high spirits. Jonathan Freeman, who voiced Jafar in the film, slinks around amusingly, a cartoon villain come to life with his undertaker's voice and a face on which every feature is curved into a permanent sneer. Don Darryl Rivera is fun as Iago, his half-size, roly-poly henchmen who follows him around, echoing every wicked sentiment. Clifton Davis, last seen on Broadway in 1971 (in Two Gentlemen of Verona), is a genial presence as the sultan, who wants the best for Jasmine.

If you're allergic to the Disney musical formula, Aladdin probably isn't for you. And as mentioned before, its exposition is draggy, and at times its insistent wise-guy tone can become a tad grating. (There are a few too many inside-showbiz jokes that probably cracked them up in the office of Disney Theatricals.) But for sheer rowdy fun combined with sophisticated musical staging Aladdin is going to be hard to beat. Thomas Schumacher, head of Disney Theatricals, recently commented that Casey Nicholaw is the Gower Champion of today. At the time, I thought, oh brother. I may have to think about it again. --David Barbour