STAGE

TOLSTOY AND THE BARD COME TO THE MARINA AND TREMAN

Outdoor Productions By The Hangar And ISC Bring Welcome Relief

By Barbara Adams

Watching performances outdoors in the relative cool of evening is one way to cope with this month’s insufferable heat. At the Hangar eatre’s tented space near the marina, audiences are treated to a lively production of Dave Malloy’s 2012 musical, “Natasha, Pierre, & the Great Comet of 1812.” And Ithaca Shakespeare Company, for its 20th season, returns to the lush greenery of Upper Robert H. Treman State Park with two seldom-seen works, William Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra” and “Two Gentlemen of Verona.”

Malloy’s electropop opera, adapted from a segment of Tolstoy’s “War and Peace,” features two ill-fated Russian aristocrats: Pierre, in the familiar Slavic role of the discontent aging intellectual, all philosophy and little action; and Natasha, a naïve, spoiled young countess, engulfed by fantasies of love.

Engaged to Prince Andrey, a soldier o ghting Napoleon’s invasion, the impressionable girl falls for Anatole, a suave, handsome rake who conceals his own marriage in order to seduce her. Responsible friends and relatives intervene, of course, and Natasha, still lovestruck, is chastened, while Pierre ends up discovering the value of love on his own terms. e particular delight of this musical (ever since its inception) is how the large cast spills over the stage, down the aisles, and through the audience; under Shirley Serotsky’s direction, both movement and music convey a sense of life irrepressibly erupting. Czerton Lim’s e cient set provides a straightforward cutout of the towers and onion domes of Moscow’s skyline, with most of the stage le open for frequent dances (varied choreography by Fatima Sowe). e set’s simplicity is countered by Debra Sivigny’s striking costumes, all boots and gold braid and delicious gowns. Elizabeth M. Stewart’s lighting strings bare bulbs overhead, suggesting intimate bowers, and one dazzling chandelier stands in for the celebrated comet awing everyone in the play’s nal moments. e story unfolds in a distinct sung-through narrative style: each character sings directly what he or she is right then doing or thinking. e e ect is simultaneously distancing and engaging, and sometimes even comical (or is that just the obviousness of the script? –– as when all, writing letters, chant “In 19th century Russia, we put down in writing what’s happening in our minds”). e spirited music is a mash-up of styles and forms: heartfelt ballads, rousing folk tunes, sonorous anthems, operatic arias –– at times electronic. (Here’s pop opera for young people unfamiliar with the medium; in fact, the inexperienced Natasha, attending an opera, loudly whispers “I can’t follow the plot.”)

In a funny ri on the di culty of grasping Russian names in a large cast, Malloy’s script has the actors each introduce themselves, and their name-chant repeats, like a memory game.

Vocally the actors are strong and ne; even more impressively, most are playing instruments as well (e ectively handled by Chris Blisset’s musical supervision). Alan Mendez’s Pierre is a genial bear of a man, complicated, re ective, escaping himself in drink; his every song and speech demands attention. Natasha, played by Chloe Castro-Santos, is an impossible adolescent; she’s so vain and willful one wonders what everyone is so charmed by. (Also, in this production, her unruly hair could use combing; its disarray counters the notion of her innocence.) Unfortunately, the powerful, over-miked vocals le much of Natasha’s lyrics indecipherable.

As Anatole, Jong Sang Rheu is surreally smooth and manipulative; his voice and trumpet both compelling. His sister, “the slut” (also the unhappy Pierre’s wife) is a gorgeously sophisticated Zoe Dongas, who lights up the stage. Equally compelling, from the opposite end of the moral spectrum, is Madelaine Vandenberg as Natasha’s loyal friend, Sonya. Her singing is exceptionally clear; her poise and sensitive acting absorbing.

Natasha, played by Chloe Castro-Santos’ Natasha is vain, willful…and charming, while Jong Sang Rheu’s Anatole is surreally smooth and manipulative. (Photo: Rachel Philipson) Alan Mendez’s Pierre is a genial bear of a man, complicated, reflective, escaping himself in drink. (Photo: Rachel Philipson)

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