DISNEY'S


by Linda Woolverton
Directed by Lee MacDougall
A Stage West Production
at Stage West Mississauga
February 7-April 20, 2008

    The least you can say about the Stage West version, directed by Lee MacDougall, is that the audience loves it, even though the show looks and sounds like Disney caught in a recession. Samantha Burson’s set is prettily colourful as if it had popped out of a fairy tale book, rather than being the grim Gothic mansion where the frightful beast exercises his menacing control. Dennis Horn’s costumes are worse, particularly the ones for the anthropomorphic dancing forks, spoons, teapot, grandfather clock, candelabra, armoire, feather duster, et cetera—not to mention the hungry wolf pack that has all the terror of a mimed pillow fight. The prince turned into a beast wears a hideous mask that covers his entire face, robbing him of any facial expressiveness and compelling him to push his voice. Fortunately, Gabriel Burrafato has a strong one, which resounds stirringly in “If I Can’t Love Her.” As for Belle, Ashley Taylor relies on a small stock of mannerisms, though she sings well. Apart from an English accent, Steven Gallagher’s Cogsworth is uninspired, though the audience loves his mechanical way with wit and doesn’t seem to mind his woeful costume. Eric Craig’s Lumiere has his crazy Gallic moments of bad puns and swish—really more of a wiggle—but even he falls into very repetitive mannerisms that cannot overcome the disadvantage of his bad costume. Instead of looking like a classy candelabrum, he resembles nothing so much as a French manservant with damaged hands and a bad hairdo. Some others stand out, however, from the general ruck: John Weir as Maurice (Belle’s eccentric inventor-dad), Caden Douglas’ dumb Lefou (forced, however, to do one pratfall after another like one of the Three Stooges, with accompanying sound effects from the soundtrack), Mark Harapiak’s Gaston (all brawn and little brain, but the actor lacks a light touch), and especially Charlotte Moore’s sweet Mrs. Potts taking charge of Gabriel Giammaria’s or (depending on the performance schedule) Shawn Molko’s little Chip.

   The shallow stage doesn’t permit extensive choreography, but this is no excuse for Gino Berti’s utterly mediocre dance patterns that depend to a large extent on leaps and bounds rather than anything else. Almost needless to say, there is no Busby Berkeley moment for the dancing cutlery—no grand staircase for the dinner plates supposedly parading as showgirls with attitude. The songs of Howard Ashman and Tim Rice (with lyrics by Alan Menken) are pleasant enough corn, and the first-act showstopper, “Be Our Guest,” is giddy camp, though far from lavish as it was on Broadway.

   There is no real eye-popping spectacle, no apocalyptic epiphany, and no real spontaneity. What you see is precisely what you get—which is pretty much a golden egg laid by this Disney musical that started as a full-length animated feature, then morphed into a mega Broadway musical, and is now dinner-theatre for the masses who seem to appreciate its relentlessly blandiose (a mix of the bland and grandiose) manner.  

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