If you were going to sink a small fortune into a lavish production, wouldn’t you go out of your way to seek out a fresh storyline? Writer/director/choreographer Andy Blankenbuehler (who gave Hamilton its rousing dance moves) and his book co-writer, Ted Malawer, opted instead to warm up some cheesy, tried-and-true tropes from the fairy-tale larder.
In Only Gold (your guess as to the title’s import is as good as mine: something about materialism and values?) we have a rebellious princess (Gaby Diaz, an athletic gamine, less limber as an actor) balking at an arranged marriage; an imperious monarch (Terrence Mann, wasted here but in fine form and full voice); and a neglected, alienated queen (elegant Karine Plantadit).
The king hopes that a month-long shopping spree in Paris will (a) cure the queen’s anomie and (b) furnish Princess Tooba (sic) with a fitting trousseau. The resulting quest is a cocktail of adolescent rebellion cut with consumerism. Toss Spring Awakening plus Gigi in the blender, add a splash of Amélie, et voilá! Not quite.
Kate Nash not only wrote the music and lyrics, she’s on stage for most of the show, serving – wanly – as pianist/vocalist. She both narrates the story and channels assorted inner monologs set as solo songs. The sound design is by Nevin Steinberg. If the orchestra – where are they, you may well wonder – sometimes overwhelms the singers onstage, it’s because the musicians are not in the room: they’re playing in an adjacent space.
A lot of gilt and a hint of Deco swoopiness in David Korins’s set constitutes what little indication there is of the narrative’s setting: Paris, 1928 – or so Nash and the chorus tell us, repeatedly, as if the mere reiteration were some kind of magical incantation, romanticism guaranteed. One ivory-silk camo-scanty combo aside, Anita Yavich’s costumes skew contemporary. They’re at least imaginative and fun: compliments on the peekaboo, black-organdy-ruched bridesmaids’ outfits.
As for plot, materialism gets a simultaneous drubbing and reinforcement. The queen is apparently out of sorts because she feels superfluous, late in her marriage and her reign. She’s clearly over the former but not the latter, sharing her spouse’s conviction that “Our people need to know they will be taken care of.” She has only stayed in the marriage, she says, because “Our people needed me.”
Monarchy is so passé, n’est-ce pas? In any case, the queen cheers right up when the king goes to the trouble of duplicating a treasured, long-lost necklace. He tracks down the original atelier, where Henri (Ryan Vandenboom) has taken over his father’s trade but suffers from penury and artistic unfulfillment. Henri’s thwarted ambition is nothing compared to his spouse’s. As Camille, a frustrated housewife who once dreamed of becoming a concert pianist, Hannah Cruz (a Suffs standout) somehow manages to surf this sea of cliches, with a fine voice and vivid presence. In the one surprise turn, this nobody turns out to be the focal point of the whole script, its apparent raison d’être. So Cinderella deserves a bit of referent credit as well.
Mentored by the equally frustrated queen (it’s tough being a pampered figurehead!), Camille resolves to ditch her husband – his ego now inflated by success – and resume her calling. She finds encouragement in a newspaper headline which alludes to a concert starring a female pianist: “A woman playing publicly?” she marvels. Poor Camille, who has apparently been dwelling in a news desert all her life, while daring to dream big.
It’s all such a silly, warmed-over pile of clichés. The text – the pretext – merely serves to distract us from some captivating, if relentless dance numbers: two dozen in all. Why not dispense with the corny, démodé trappings and give these fine dancers the recital showcase they so clearly deserve?
Only Gold opened November 7, 2022, at the MCC Theater Space and runs through November 27. Tickets and information: mcctheater.org
