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Anna Horrocks
Sunday, October 7, 2012
The
Daily Californian
"How could one little man cause such universal
grief and anguish? More importantly, why would he?” These
stimulating questions blossomed into the 1990 musical “Assassins,”
a spectacle that lures its audience into a world suspended in
time and space, alternating between fiction and history to create
a “dreamlike vaudeville” in which nine assassins of
U.S. presidents from different points in history unite, collaborate
and live through their experiences killing (or attempting to kill)
the commander in chief. The Shotgun Players’ production
of this Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman collaboration succeeded
in building a hauntingly inviting carnival of misfits, beautifully
displaying a vast range of quirks, ticks, yearnings and thirsts
that trigger the same immortalizing exploit.
Upon entering the theater, it is impossible not
to feel a sudden chill down the spine. The tone of the musical
is immediately set by the enchantingly alluring yet frighteningly
unsettling stage piece that towers over the audience. This sort
of shape-shifting gazebo that functions as a carnival game booth
magnificently dominates the theater in its oppressive size, dreary
hue and wistful antiquity. Despite its overpowering grandiloquence,
this enormous stage piece functioned pragmatically throughout
the production. Rather than overwhelming the cast of characters,
it served as a cleverly placed stage upon the stage on which characters
make a spectacle of themselves for the other characters, performing
their murders as if they were vaudeville acts supported by their
peers throughout history.
In this and other ways, the stage direction of this
performance was both fluid and effective. Almost every performer
was present for most of the production on a relatively small stage
(about 60 percent of which was dominated by the set and live orchestra)
without seeming crowded or misplaced. Using the players to frame
the central action and join the audience in the aisles among the
seats not only incorporated the entire space to its best capacity
but also contributed to the intrigue and spectacle created by
the murders.
The small cast of 10 players (a characteristic quality
of Sondheim’s work) smoothly executed the particularly taxing
venture of blending in and out of ensemble and soloist positions
throughout the production. Rebecca Castelli’s powerhouse
voice, Jeff Garrett’s joltingly whimsical presence and Kevin
Singer’s remarkable talent on the banjo displayed a spectrum
of individual strength and variety that was highlighted both by
independent performances and through the support of the ensemble.
This strategic display of varied specialized personal talents
maintained the atmosphere of a twisted vaudeville expression of
American history, making for a clean transition back and forth
between fiction and reality.
While the aforementioned features of the show succeeded
in creating a memorable performance, the only element that seemed
to be lacking was the immaculate attention to detail that must
be paid to every moment in a Sondheim show. The incredibly precise
diction demanded by a musical with such intentionally specific
lyricism was not present in every singing performance, and closer
attention to this detail could have created a more varied rise
and fall in genre. Rather than feeling dark throughout the play,
the comedic moments may have felt more lighthearted and the melodramatic
ones less somber. However, all in all, the Shotgun Players triumphed
in crafting a hauntingly tragic portrait of the unsatisfied American
who is seduced into performing the eternalizing stunt of assassinating
the president.
