A Letter to Harvey Milk

C+

When I saw four people (Ellen M. Schwartz, Cheryl Stern, Laura I. Kramer and Jerry James) listed in my Playbill under “Book,” I started to worry whether this musical at the Acorn Theatre could have a unified vision. Although this sweet, well-meaning musical was crowned Most Promising Musical at the 2012 New York Musical Festival, my worries were justified. This schmaltzy adaptation of a short story by Leslea Newman, author of Heather Has Two Mommies, runs the gamut from Borscht Belt shtick to tenderness to tragedy. Incidentally, when I say “schmaltzy” I am being literal. An actual jar of schmaltz makes an appearance. And if you don’t know what schmaltz is, this is probably not the show for you. The three main characters are Harry Weinberg (Adam Heller; It Shoulda Been You), a retired widowed kosher butcher in San Francisco; Barbara Katsef (Julia Knitel; Beautiful), the 30ish lesbian with writer’s block who teaches a writing workshop at the local Jewish Community Center; and Frannie Weinberg (Cheryl Stern; La Cage aux Folles), whose lively meddling ghost suddenly makes an appearance when Harry enrolls in Barbara’s class. The other four actors -- Michael Bartoli (Forbidden Broadway), who looks eerily like Harvey Milk; Jeremy Greenbaum (Newsies), Aury Krebs and CJ Pawlikowski (The Book of Mormon) -- perform well in multiple roles. Frannie provides comic relief and gets the show’s best number, “What a Shanda” (rhymes with squander and Rwanda). When given an assignment to write a letter to someone who is no longer alive, Harry writes not to Frannie but to Harvey Milk, whom he met in Milk's camera store and in whom he took a fatherly interest. Barbara is touched by his letter and tells Harry how Harvey Milk’s legacy gave her the courage to come out to her not-very-Jewish parents who promptly cast her out. Harry sets out to teach her some Yiddishkeit, but becomes upset when she tells a flirting waiter at the local deli that she is a lesbian. They reconcile, but then Harry becomes even more upset when he sees a large pink triangle on her tee shirt. Eventually, he shares a long-suppressed wartime memory with her. The lyrics by the late Ellen M. Schwartz supplemented by lyrics by Cheryl Stern are often clunky. The generic music by Laura I. Kramer is enhanced by fine orchestrations by Ned Paul Ginsburg. The attractive two-level set design by David L. Arsenault (Peer Gynt) evokes typical San Francisco architecture and efficiently wheels in props for each location. Debbi Hobson’s costumes are excellent. Director Evan Pappas (Wonderful Town) keeps the action flowing smoothly. If you are expecting a play about Harvey Milk, you will be disappointed. I couldn’t escape the feeling that the show was crafted to pander to an audience that is Jewish, LGBT, or preferably both. It has its moments, but the uneven tone undermines it. Running time: 85 minutes, no intermission.

Peer Gynt **

Classic Stage Company’s new production directed and adapted by its incoming artistic director John Doyle is a case of too little Ibsen and too much Doyle. Up to a point, Doyle’s stripped-down version with just seven actors works, but there is so little specificity about location or identity of the characters that it all runs together into a blur. Perhaps Doyle thought this would give the play more universality, but I wasn’t buying it. Doyle’s signature tic of having the actors play instruments has become a cliche; fortunately, only two actors (Jane Pfitsch and George Abud) are so burdened in this production. Other directorial choices puzzled me — the character called The Undertaker (Adam Heller) speaks with a New York accent while The Mother (Becky Ann Baker) has a Southern accent. The usually fine Dylan Baker (The Doctor) and Quincy Tyler Bernstine (Solveig) do not have much opportunity to show their strengths. Not even the amazing performance by Gabriel Ebert as the title character is enough to hold things together. Doyle must have instructed him to downplay Peer Gynt’s age in the final scenes, which robs the play of some of its pathos. Nevertheless, Ebert is a wonder to behold. He is onstage for virtually the entire play and probably has 90% of the lines. This adaptation falls between two stools: it’s too long to sit comfortably through for two hours but too short to do justice to Ibsen. David L. Asenault’s scenic design features a raised rectangular platform with a step on each end. Ann Hould-Ward’s modern-dress costumes are stylish. The music for violin by Dan Moses Schreier is no threat to Grieg. I hope this production will not set the template for what we can expect during Doyle’s reign as artistic director. Running time: 2 hours, no intermission. NOTE: Avoid seats in the 200 section where you will often face the actors’ backs and in the front row of the two side sections which are benches with no arms or back.