How refreshing, in this summer of our political discontent, to arrive at Central Park’s Delacorte Theater and enjoy a production that celebrates inclusiveness without reserve—and without pandering or preaching to the choir (like a few other recently introduced, well-intended shows that shall remain nameless here).
The pleasures offered by the Public Theater’s musical adaptation of Twelfth Night, part of its annual Shakespeare in the Park series, are as diverse as its cast, which in addition to the talented principals includes two rotating ensembles featuring residents of New York City’s five boroughs. Originally presented in 2016 as part of Public Works, which partners with various community programs to provide creative opportunities for audience members, this Twelfth Night has been re-envisioned for the main stage with many of its key players intact.
Prominent among those players is the rising performer/composer/lyricist Shaina Taub, who in addition to serving as a sort of master of ceremonies—she greets the crowd before sliding gracefully into the role of Feste, the knowing fool who serves Countess Olivia—has provided a buoyant, soulful score that segues seamlessly from New Orleans jazz and exuberant funk to a pair of pining R&B ballads and a winking character solo (for the truly foolish Malvolio) that could pass for vintage musical comedy.
Taub conceived the adaptation, which runs just 90 minutes, with Kwame Kwei-Armah, incoming artistic director of London’s New Vic, who helms this production alongside the Public’s own artistic director, Oskar Eustis. The trio has managed, even while abridging the text, to find fresh resonance in Shakespeare’s comedy of mistaken identity and misdirected longing. The show opens with a funeral procession, for Olivia’s brother, segueing into a joyous production number, “Play On,” in which a famous line (“If music be the food of love…”) is repeated to attest to love’s resilience in the worst of times.
Primacy is given, fittingly, to the character of Viola, who after landing in Illyria with twin brother Sebastian—but apart from him, so that each believes the other killed in a shipwreck—disguises herself as the male Cesario and is recruited by Duke Orsino to court Olivia on his behalf. Nikki M. James, one of several returning cast members from 2016, brings a beautifully piquant voice and a soaring spirit to this rich ingenue role, managing a sweet but charged chemistry with Ato Blankston-Wood’s delicately masculine, liquid-voiced Orsino.
This Twelfth Night is never lovelier, in fact, than when James and Blankston-Wood are singing together. At one point, a few cast members melding sign language and dance (lyrically choreographed by Lorin Latarro) accompany them; at another, Taub artfully inserts Shakespeare’s words under pining instrumentals. Opportunities are also provided for the actors to speak in plainer, more contemporary terms that underline the enduring relevance, and timeliness, of their characters’ dilemmas. When Viola declares, “Maybe the man I tried to be is the girl I always was,” James’ un-self-conscious directness makes the revelation even more affecting.
Nanya-Akuki Goodrich’s voluptuous, earthy Olivia is a fine, funny foil to the more earnest suitors, and especially amusing in expressing her unrequited love for Cesario/Viola and, later, aggressively (if unwittingly) seducing Troy Anthony’s elegant Sebastian. The clowns also get their due, with the sublime Shuler Hensley tackling Sir Toby Belch with predictable dexterity and heft, and Lori Brown-Niang lending a sly languor to the cunning Maria. As Malvolio, the eventual victim of their conspiring, Andrew Kober gets his own star turn in a musical number that features the company in yellow hats (to match those infamous stockings).
This Malvolio is also allowed to spell out his back story in terms that any modern-day middle-schooler could comprehend, and scoff at, and sympathize with. Kwei-Armah, Taub and Eustis not only make Twelfth Night accessible to the breadth of audiences represented by their company—which includes kids—but emphasize the differences and contradictions that can exist within each one of us. And leave us laughing, and dancing, in the end.
