Review: "Chess" the Musical at Point Park University

Assuming that you're reading this blog, you know me already.  (If not, wilkommen...)  Therefore, you know that I am a musician and lover of the theatre.  However, above all, I have a slightly and obsessively encyclopedic knowledge of some works of musical theatre.  This blog entry will, I'm afraid, center wholly upon that last factor.

On Friday night, Matt and I went to the Pittsburgh Playhouse in the Oakland neighborhood of Pittsburgh to see Point Park University's presentation of the 1980s musical, "Chess."  Written by Benny and Bjorn, the male members of ABBA, and with lyrics from frequent Andrew Lloyd Webber collaborator Tim Rice, "Chess" is the definition of a problem musical.

That problem?  On disc, the musical is perfect.  It is, as it were, trapping lightning in a bottle and having it there for all time.  On stage, however, multiple iterations, changes, and other assorted complications have shrouded that elemental energy in issue upon issue of people, places, and the eternal heartbreak of a flop.

When it was recorded in 1984, "Chess" was issued on 2 LPs.  No dialogue was included on those records.  Instead, the songs drove the story and told you all you needed to know as a listener.  Stars of stage Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson played, respectively, Florence, an American woman who assists the American chess champion, and Svetlana, the woman married to the Soviet chess champion.  Swedish singer Tommy Korberg played the Soviet chess player who was matched against Murray Head's American.

The records are thrilling.  As a work of art firmly rooted in its moment, the score written for "Chess" is a mix of synth-pop, soaring power ballads, and a pastiche of theatre styles.  In fact, you probably know a song from "Chess" without knowing you do... If you've ever heard "One Night in Bangkok" you're listening to the last song from a theatre musical to reach the tops of the Billboard charts.

The problem with "Chess" isn't the score or the lyrics.  The problem is the book.  In order to put the work on stage as a piece of theatre rather than a concert, a story was constructed and, in the decades hence, changed entirely, reconstructed repeatedly, and in spite of that always seems to fail to nail down that perfection exhibited in the original concept album.

Chief among the problems onstage last night was the book, written for the 1988 original Broadway production, which failed quickly and spectacularly at a cost of $6 million.  That story line changed locations, characters, motivations, added new people who didn't matter to the story's progress, and more or less changed a fast, slick show into one firmly stuck in frozen mud.  That version, unfortunately, is the only one currently licensed for performance in the U.S.

The young man singing the role of the Soviet chess player, Anatoly Sergievsky, gave an inspired performance with his soaring tenor voice.  His American counterpart, singing chess champion Freddie Trumper, was woefully miscast.  The role demands a rock tenor.  This young man brought moments of good singing, but his voice wasn't anywhere up to the level of songs he was given.

The same went for the women.  The young lady in the role of Florence, the American's chess second who becomes the Soviet champion's lover, was very good.  Her director got in her way more than her own talent.  The same could not be said for the young lady singing Svetlana.  She fell well short of her role's demanded characteristics:  i.e. someone who can belt with both chest and head voices.

Point Park's production was, at times, perfunctorily ugly.  Elements of the stage design, namely the clear plastic towers you see, got in the way of well-designed video projections.  As the "gimmick" they rose up as the characters' world was falling apart and spewed out all of the trash held inside them.  An enormous set of risers was totally wasted upon a Greek chorus of CIA and KGB members who did little except stand about or move the occasional piece of furniture.  The dull nature of the stage set, however, didn't obfuscate the quality of some performances.

And even though the split between first acts is a few months and thousands of miles (Bangkok to Budapest) - and though most characters got costume changes - poor Florence remained in the same dowdy "power suit" the entire time, clinging onto the same cross-body purse.

Such unevenness is to be expected in any sort of amateur production.  What is inexcusable is changing a character from male to female and then neglecting to change script references to the male character's name.  Such was the case of the male CIA officer / Freddie's agent, Walter de Courcey.  Inexplicably - and quite in violation of the contract signed to obtain performance rights - Walter became a black woman with the last name "Anderson."

However, at least twice in the second act, she was referred to as Walter and, in a third instance, called "a son of a bitch" instead of simply "a bitch."  This sloppiness is unforgivable, even in the most amateur productions.  It feels lazy and, above all, ignorant of your audience's intelligence.

I guess what I'm trying to nail down here is this fact:  None of the young men and women performing on that stage were "the problem."  Professionals - the scenic designer who holds an MFA, the director who has many local credits listed in his bio, and whoever directed the Soviets to sing in terrible dialect - made the decisions that hampered a good college level production from being, perhaps, a great one.

Finally, a few Hall of Shame moments:

First, they need to have a seating chart posted at the box office.  We decided to sit in the balcony.  Upon arriving there, we had A.) a limited view; B.) poor sound; and C.) rude college students surrounding us.  All this with a half-empty orchestra.  If not criminal, it's at least incredibly rude to put customers paying full price in the worst seats in the house without their knowledge.

Second, they need to tell their spotlight man to NOT SING ALONG WITH THE CAST.  This should go without saying when your light booth doesn't have walls.  During Florence's big first act song "Nobody's Side" this young man thought it was his right to sing along with her, much to my chagrin.

Moving downstairs at the intermission solved both of those problems.

All in all, Point Park's "Chess" wasn't a total failure.  It was fettered by the poor 1988 book more than anything, but some terrible design and directing choices truly hampered the proceedings.  Was I glad to have seen the show again and for Matt to see it a first time?  Yes.  Was I happier to be able to come home after, crack open a bottle of champagne and explain to him how it was supposed to go while playing him tracks from various professional recordings?  You bet.

That, all in one, is the heartbreak of live theatre.  There are moments of greatness that exhibit to the audience what could be and a few glaring errors that keep it from being so much better.

2.5 Stars out of 5.