(Above: Esack Grueskin and Sabrina Gross in The Very Little Theatre’s production of “Little Shop of Horrors.” The reviewer warns audiences that a handful of jokes in the decades-old play revert to views of male-female relationships that are no longer accepted by much of society.)
By Kelly Oristano
It’s an old story: Boy meets plant, plant and boy meet girl, boy likes girl, plant likes blood, boy feeds plant, first the bad guys, then eventually everybody. You know, that old chestnut.
The Very Little Theatre’s current production of Little Shop of Horrors is fun and funny, well-acted and very well-sung. I clapped, laughed, and whistled my way through the show, and I’ve been singing the tunes to myself and anyone in earshot since the curtain call.
Its skeleton is a morality tale, borrowed from the 1960 Roger Corman B-movie of the same name. Morality is often described in terms of expectations, what people should expect of each other. Howard Ashman and Alan Menken’s 1982 off-Broadway musical comedy reboot adds to this the smash hit a doo-wop soundtrack and an extra, very ’80s, exploration of what people should expect for themselves. It delves into the idea that setting one’s personal expectations too low can be as dangerous as setting them too high.
Director Chris Pinto has assembled an excellent cast from petal to root, and found ways to let them all share the sunshine. Some of the strongest moments featured the vocal prowess of the full ensemble, putting out hair-raising harmonies under the vocal direction of Gerald Walters.
The special technical work is also notably strong. David Mort’s original series of Audrey II puppets are surpassingly lovely objets d’art, and the puppetry of Nicole Jaques, Josef Potts — and in one hilarious bit Cody Mendonca — brings them to comic life. The set and wardrobe are cute and functional. My favorite gag is that Mushnik’s Flower Shop has a lovely bay window that looks out upon a brick wall about 8 inches past the pane. Funny world-building touches like this abound. I liked the addition of urban apartment stoops on either side of the stage. It added to the reality of the setting and gave actors something to do. Hanging on the stoop beats standing in a group.
Mendonca’s Seymour Krelborn carries us through the story, never expecting more than “meatloaf and water,” and thus seldom disappointed. Mendonca provides plentiful big laughs as he sings Seymour’s moral dilemmas to us with increasing franticness. He sells Seymour’s tougher character moments with a frenzied gleam in his eye, and shows the pure motivation of his eventual bad acts in his chaste adoration for his co-worker Audrey.
Audrey is a puzzling character for the current era, but Sabrina Gross is fantastic in the role. Be she belting bravura vocals (especially strong on “Somewhere That’s Green” and “Suddenly Seymour,”) standing comically mute, or anything in between, Audrey is at the center of everyman’s and every plant’s machinations and motivations. Her grandest expectations for herself include a tract house with furniture covered in plastic. Ms. Gross makes that dream seem idyllic and far away.
Traci Knights, Laura Gage-Hunt and Cortney Grant form the trio of girl singers, a Greek Chorus in beehives, scarves, and rolled up dungarees. Their harmonies are tight and practiced, as though they’ve been singing together for years rather than weeks. There’s a gleeful moment when Audrey says something they don’t like and they respond, “Girl!” but they somehow say it in perfect harmony.
Michael P. Watkins and Esack Grueskin are uncannily perfect in the roles of Mr. Mushnik and Orin Scrivello, DDS. Scott Machado is a funny, greedy, and hungry Audrey II (Seymour named the plant after his best girl. And the plant talks.) In a play where every part is for a character actor, these three broader character turns keep the heart of the story pumping.
Jim Greenwood and his band were great. They and the ensemble, each of whom gets at least one delightful solo feature, give a musical reality to this iteration of Skid Row. Not every musical has even one song to hum as one leaves the theatre. This show has a bunch. The reasons for its runaway off-Broadway success in the ’80s, which translated into a 5-year run, are well replicated here by VLT’s ensemble and crew; it’s a great show that everyone should see.
And yet I do have one note of reservation. Violence against women is not funny in 2018. I’d like to say it’s never been funny, but this 1982 play relies at points on a run of four or five jokes that ask the audience to laugh at the idea that a man punched a woman in the face. Routinely. For kicks. We all know his comeuppance is coming up, but that’s no longer enough. It is right to expect a little more of ourselves. Last Saturday’s audience, a generally rollicking and very pleased one, did not laugh at the worst handful of these jokes — they were aghast, and it’s frankly to their credit. Times change, and as a rule comedy does not age well. The exceptions which prove that rule ought to be celebrated, but we’ve come from the Me Generation to the #MeToo Movement. An organization should not prepare this text for performance without having intentional conversations about this issue, this page or two of script that needs special attention. If VLT and this cast and crew had that conversation, that is to their credit, but as the play was presented, a line dropped into the pre-show speech or a simple word of preparatory explanation in the program would be entirely in order to steel the audience for that little bit of what they are about to see.
But now, at least you have been warned, and having been warned, you can happily attend. As Doctor Scrivello says to Seymour, antique drill in hand, “Open up. It’ll only hurt a little.”
Little Shop of Horrors
When: Continuing through June 23 with performances at 7:30 p.m. on June 7-9, 14-16 and 21-23 and at 2 p.m. on June 10 and 17
Where: 2350 Hilyard Street in Eugene
Tickets: $19-23 (all Seats $19 on Thursdays and for students and Senior citizens for all shows), available through the VLT box office, 541-344-7751 or online at thevlt.com
