by David Ives and Paul Blake
Directed by Walter Bobbie
At the Sony Centre for the Performing Arts
November 20-January 5, 2007

   To be perfectly honest, I never dream of a white Christmas, though I do like to see treetops glisten and hope for many days that are merry and bright. Count me out of many a cozy holiday by a cabin hearth high in ski country, but I can be easily charmed by good melodies, even if I normally resist their warm, fuzzy lyrics about Christmas and seasonal pieties that invariably die with the season. And I can be especially charmed by Irving Berlin, even when the musical in question—specifically White Christmas—is soggy with nostalgia and puts too much of a fairy-tale sheen on things. However, even a critic needs his guilty pleasures, and White Christmas is a huge pleasure, with its brimming congeniality, optimism, and drive—not to mention its tunefulness, swell choreography, and the prettiest décor this side of a Hallmark card. All this and the imperishable title-song that Irving Berlin (real name Israel Baline) wrote in one night when he was overcome with nostalgia for his New York boyhood and the snowy holiday he had shared with a gentile friend. Some of his Jewish friends and critics accused him of forgetting his roots, but Berlin responded that he was not celebrating a religious holiday but an American one.

   I would have called it a universal secular holiday, instead, but Berlin obviously knew his way around silly partisan objections—almost as easily as he knew how to compose popular hits. In this instance, “White Christmas” made its debut in the 1942 black-and-white film Holiday Inn, where it was crooned by none other than Bing Crosby, the prematurely balding, blue-eyed charmer, who sent it soaring to the top of the charts then and later again in the 1954 Paramount VistaVision technicolour film called (what else?) White Christmas, on which the stage musical is based. Crosby was partnered by comedian Danny Kaye this time—in place of Fred Astaire who had teamed up with him in Holiday Inn but then passed on the remake—and the duo had Vera Ellen and Rosemary Clooney as the beautiful objects of their affection.

   The film and this stage musical share the same plot—or what passes for one, which is merely a way of finding a path into Berlin’s songs by way of comedy, modified drama, and romance. The story is simplistic: two song-and-dance men (Bob Wallace and Phil Davis) in the 151^st Division of the U.S. army team up after World War II with a sister act (Betty and Judy Haynes) who are booked at a Vermont inn that happens to be run by the men’s former general (Henry Waverly), a crusty but benevolent guy who doesn’t like to show his softer side. However, the ex-general is facing terrible financial trouble and the sisters find themselves out of a potential job. Wallace and Davis, who, of course, are romantically entangled with these gals, come to the rescue with a fine performance in a large barn to raise money and save the inn. Shades of Rooney and Garland’s “Have barn. Have talent. Let’s put on a show.” And, of course, Wallace and Davis get the sisters in the bargain. So much for the bare plot, but White Christmas is about how generosity, love, and common decency can be put to music and wrapped up in a glorious bow in time for the most joyous seasonal celebration of the year. Though there’s no snow in Vermont when the musical performers arrive, there’s a beautiful snowfall just in time for the climatic title-number, and as translated onto the stage through sheer theatrical magic of Anna Louizos’ resourceful set design, Ken Billington’s spectacular lighting, and Carrie Robbins’ glorious costuming, it has an undeniable charm that can be resisted only by the most cynical of us. With the addition of a few Berlin songs that were absent from the film, the stage version is blessed with beneficent nostalgia.

   Walter Bobbie’s direction is splendid, except for two of the performers whom he allows to become tired clichés—one being the over-top gay stage manager/dance captain and the other being gruff but good-hearted Waverly, whom Barry Flatman plays with almost unrelieved sour crustiness. Other performances, however, shine in the main, with Rod Campbell turning in an amusing cameo as old Ezekiel, a laconic stagehand who moves in slow motion, and young Cassidy Swanston twinkling in her big, eager strut-and-cane solo routine as the general’s granddaughter. As for the principals, while Graham Rowat (as Wallace) lacks Crosby’s mellow tones and light romantic touch, he acquits himself honourably, partnered strongly by Tony Yazbeck (as Davis) who, while hardly an expert comedian, certainly knows how to kick up his heels in dance, especially alongside Shannon O’Bryan’s perky and delectable Judy Haynes. As O’Bryan’s sister, Betty, Kate Baldwin is statuesque, beautiful (in any coloured gown), and in fine voice (her rendition of “Love, You Didn’t Do Right By Me” is a knockout). But a special mention must be made of Kate Hennig for stepping into a role at almost the last minute after Nora McLellan, originally cast in it, damaged her vocal cords. As Martha Watson, she of the brassy wit and throwaway line, Ms. Hennig is a sustained delight, looking like a menopausal version of Lucille Ball and sounding like a cross between Ethel Merman and Mary Wickes. Come to think of it, Ms. Wickes played the very role in the Paramount movie, but she wasn’t a patch on Ms. Hennig, who has the audience eating out of her hand as she cracks one-liners, snoops on conversations, and does a superb song-and-dance in “Let Me Sing and I’m Happy” (a solo) and “Falling Out of Love Can Be Fun” (a trio). If this were Broadway, she’d be an overnight sensation, with a Tony beckoning.

   Putting aside a problem with credibility (how did that inn have the resources for big, glamorous production numbers in the manner of a movie studio?), audiences can revel in the sheer ecstasy of the music and dance. You need a tin ear not to respond with delight to such Berlin hits as “Blue Skies” (which receives an altogether splendidly danced mounting), “Count Your Blessings,” “How Deep Is The Ocean,” or “I Love a Piano.” True, “Sisters” doesn’t altogether fire well on its second cylinder—when Wallace and Davis camp it up as women—but on its first cylinder (with Ms. Baldwin and Ms. O’Bryan taking charge of the number and the ostrich feathers), it is razzle-dazzle delicious fun. Randy Skinner’s choreography is a match for Robert Alton’s in the movie, and the dancers’ hoofing is polished, smooth, and captivating. It is all old-fashioned, zany, corny, romantic, fluffy stuff, but it’s precious old stuff in the best sense. Think about it: when was the last time a theatre production made you feel so warm and mellow in winter? In other words, hurry on down to have a happy holiday at this old-style musical.

photos: Cylla von Tiedemann

pic 1: Kate Baldwin and Shannon O'Bryan perform "Sisters"

pic2 : Graham Rowat and ensemble in "Blue Skies"

pic 3: Tony Yazbeck and Shannon O'Bryan perform "I Love a Piano"

pic 4: Kate Baldwin and Graham Rowat in "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm"

pic 5: Ensemble in "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm"


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