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A week ago, I wrote about myproblemswith the current Broadway revival of a very well-loved musical.
Sick burn, Bernie.
But the popular taste for ragshop romance proved strong.
This production team knows what theyre making and when theyre making it.
The silhouette of a young woman moves through a swath of blue that feels like a bracing sunrise.
Eliza isnt even carrying her basket of violets yet.
For Eliza especially, the set provides a crucial sense of motion.
Eliza is growing up, becoming fully herself, and we can both see and feel it happening.
That performance starts small, then grows and grows.
But gradually, I realized how carefully Ambrose has calculated Elizas arc.
And not just because the music is beautiful.
Its not really about him (it never is, guys).
That something is probably best described in Facebook parlance: Its complicated.
And in this production, its almost heartbreaking.
Its both a smart acknowledgment of an indelible performance and a graceful escape from it.
Only Ive Grown Accustomed sees Higgins starting to wake up, and by that point, its too late.
When he makes it to that final problematic line (Where the devil are my slippers?
), hes overcome by feeling and simultaneously unable to do anything but fall back on his snide flippancy.
Hadden-Paton almost whispers the line he can hear himself making the mistake and he cant stop himself.
Her struggle is both a great comic touch and a sly comment on the ludicrous world shes entering.
Sher hasnt removedMy Fair Ladyfrom its world.
He and his company have simply approached it with a keen sense for this one.
A man taught a woman some vowel sounds.
She did the rest herself.
This is where these shows can and must begin.
Then, like Eliza, they truly can go far.
