‘Prose trumps passion in ‘Company’

By Milan Paurich

“Only connect ... only connect the prose and the passion and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer.”

— E.M. Forster

That E.M. Forster quote sums up the appeal, and the dangers of Stephen Sondheim’s Tony-winning 1970 musical “Company.”

The dichotomy between heart and head, emotion and intellect, lies at the heart of the show. Skimp on either of those parts, and “Company” refuses to gel.

In the Youngstown Playhouse production that opened Friday night, the prose — courtesy of Sondheim’s witty lyrics — trumps passion every time. This “Company” remains a largely cerebral exercise that only ignites in fits and starts, usually during the songs, which remain as glorious as ever. What we’re left with is fragments of genius — again, mostly

courtesy of Sondheim’s brilliant, exultant score — that never fully coalesce into a satisfying whole.

Bobby (Matt White), the thirtysomething bachelor at the center of the show, is a tabula rasa on which the concerns, entreaties and nudging of his friends (all of whom are either married or coupled) attempt to fill in his perceived emptiness (“a person’s not complete until they’re married” one opines). But in White’s warmer-than-usual interpretation of the role, Bobby already seems quite happily fulfilled in his singlehood. The pleading and protestations of those around him seem pretty much beside the point: Why fix something that isn’t already broken?

Although Sondheim’s music and lyrics still sound as fresh as the day they were written, George Furth’s book — a loosely connected series of vignettes that play like comedy revue sketches — feels flatter, even somewhat dated. Or maybe it’s director John D. Holt’s unwillingness to commit to a specific time period (and the show is as tethered to the birth of the Swinging Seventies as Rick Moody’s “The Ice Storm” was) that makes this particular “Company” seem to reside in a no man’s land that’s neither here (2008) nor there (1970).

And because of the script’s somewhat lumbering structure, the pacing — especially in the longish first act — lacks the usual Holt-ian snap. It seems a beat off much of the time. Fortunately, things pick up exponentially in Act Two, which is breezier, more buoyant and less exposition heavy.

A scene in which Bobby introduces David (David El’Hatton) and Jenny (Cherie Stebner) to marijuana is a comic highlight, thanks more to El’Hatton and Stebner’s pitch-perfect performances than the (somewhat stale) pot jokes themselves.

Bobby’s seduction of guileless flight attendant April (a superb Stephanie Ottey channeling the young Diane Keaton at her ditzy-adorable finest), climaxing in one of Sondheim’s most beautiful songs (the plaintive one-night-stand elegy “Barcelona”), is a minor masterpiece of bittersweet farce. Also very good is the “Getting Married Today” number in which bride-to-be Amy’s (Connie Cassidy) emotional meltdown on her wedding day prompts some soul-searching for best man Bobby (the lovely “Marry Me a Little”).

Two of the show’s best and most iconic songs (“Another Hundred People” and “The Ladies Who Lunch”) are shortchanged by either weak (Courtney Auman’s Marta) or indifferent (Maureen Gregory’s Joanne) vocals. While not seemingly ideal casting as Bobby — the dependably strong Alan McCreary who plays Bobby’s buddy Paul would have made a more physically apt “Ba-ba-ba-ba-Bobby”—White acquits himself nobly in the musical department. If show-closer “Being Alive” lacks the heart-tugging conviction that announces Bobby’s emotional catharsis — he’s finally ready to connect the passion and the prose in his life — it’s beautifully sung nonetheless.

Playhouse musical director Michael Moritz Jr. does yeoman work in orchestrating Sondheim’s rangy, sophisticated score, and Ellen Licitra’s lighting design is both subtle and eloquent. It’s not Licitra’s fault that most of the characters remain in the shadows, never truly connecting with each other or the audience. The choicest fragments of “Company” make the show worth seeing. I only wish that someone had taken Forster’s directive to heart and made the entire production throb and soar with a comparable urgency.