Theater review by Marilyn Lester…
Take a wacky 1992 black comedy fantasy film destined to become a modern cult favorite, zhuzh it up to an over-the-top Las Vegas showroom extravaganza and poof—you have Death Becomes Her, The Musical. It’s camp; it’s glitzy; and it’s everything you’d want and expect from low-comedy antics performed by a cracker-jack cast of Broadway A-listers from A to Z. In other words, it’s great, leave-your-worries-behind-you fun.
The production has been fluffed and buffed since its pre-Broadway run in Chicago, with a nip and a tuck to script and music. The result is a prime vehicle for scene chewing in the core plot of two women approaching that “certain age” fighting for the affections of the same man. Megan Hilty as Broadway star Madeline Ashford and Jennifer Simard as her bestie Helen Sharp are not only terrific comedians, with the quality that defines that excellence—great timing—but have a superb chemistry working together as actors to achieve the exact opposite plot-wise. Circling each other warily at the beginning of the musical, their destiny is to become life-long frenemies once they drink the potion that alleges eternal youth, accent on “eternal.”
Hilty and Simard have a well of inspiration to draw from in tropes of youth worship, reluctant aging and catty rivalries between women: The Women, Sunset Boulevard, All About Eve and many more come to mind. Consider that many of these works are rooted in misogyny; the film version of Death Becomes Her contained an unattractive, healthy dose of it. Book writer Marco Pennette extracted key jokes from the film (written by Martin Donovan and David Koepp), but wisely in creating the script for the musical added his own funny material, steering the rivalry between the two women from violence-stoked doom to a hopeful learning curve. Another plus in plot and character development arrived in lyrics set by Noel Carey. Music by Julia Mattison is tuneful if not exceptional, but scores high marks as a vessel for Carey’s words, which serve as an extension of the script; they tell the story as much as the book does, and so truly aid in advancing the plot.
Death Becomes Her opens with the reveal of the source of the magic potion, the shadowy Viola Van Horn, who, alone on stage, spookily emerges from an amethyst geode. In a hard-driving number, “If You Want Perfection,” Michelle Williams glamorously, if coldly, sets the musical’s tone. Her mysterious Viola is a subtle villainess, a softer Maleficent—she who wields the poison apple—and like many an important personage, Viola has “people,” her immortals, a body-beautiful ensemble that springs into action when the curtain opens. Bathed in pulsing lighting by Justin Townsend and big sound by Peter Hylenski, they’re a mesmerizing ensemble of singers and dancers translating director Christopher Gatelli’s breathtaking choreography into a thrilling, display of movement.
When we first meet Madeline Ashton, she’s starring in a star vehicle titled “Me! Me! Me!” That concept alone invites over-the-top staging and Gatelli doesn’t disappoint. It’s an ode to narcissism with its own anthem, “For the Gaze.” Chorus boys hoist the aging star; she twirls, does a costume change and a dance break, hosts cameos by Judy and Liza (amazing costumes are by Paul Tazewell) and finally ends up in her dressing room with her fay, seen-it-all, world-weary assistant, Stefan, sardonically and wonderfully played by Josh Lamon. Enter aspiring writer and Ashton friend, Helen Sharp, with her fiancé, plastic surgeon Ernest Menville, a meek-not-so-meek Christopher Sieber, known for his activism in non-cosmetic, reconstructive work. Ernest is smitten with Madeline, eventually breaking off his engagement with Helen to marry her, a trauma that sends the former into a mental institution where her raison d’etre becomes revenge. That desire becomes reality when Helen escapes and finds her way to Viola.
The film version of Death Becomes Her was notable for its pioneering use of CGI to create outlandish effects. Here it’s all wondrous stagecraft. The violence is present, but with a humor that replaces spiteful, vicious intent. Madeline’s neck being wringed, the shotgun hole in Helen’s midsection and Madeline’s decapitation are the handiwork of Tim Clothier. A highlight of the shenanigans is Madeline’s death fall from the long, winding staircase (fabulous set design throughout by Derek McLane), pushed by Helen, not by Ernest as in the film). Warren Yang is cleverly substituted for Hilty. His slow, twisting, somersaulting descent to a splat at the bottom of the staircase is both hilarious and mesmerizing in the perfection of its execution.
But then, what could possibly go wrong? It turns out that eternal youth is elusive. Madeline and Helen have survived their assaults on each other but are certifiably and clinically dead. They’re also immortal, but their cracking, peeling, greying skin ages on, requiring a lot of maintenance—which plastic surgeon Ernest can provide. Here’ where Sieber excels; for most of the musical his task as an actor is to react. He therefore doesn’t drive action, but has to move it along none the less. And what a great job he does of it; then, in a crucial scene Ernest rebels and refuses to take Viola’s potion himself, choosing to be a mortal man on his own terms, leaving the two women on their own. This plot twist is the crux of redemption for Madeline and Helen—they need to rely on each other’s good graces and caring now. In a time jump, as the two women tend their empty graves, they come upon a very aged, remarried and completely happy Ernest. “These wrinkles,” he tells the pair, “I wear them proudly. They tell my story.” Finally accepting their fate, and understanding they don’t need a man to shine, Helen asks, “What do you want to do tomorrow, Mad?” to which she replies, “I don’t care. What do you want to do, Hel?”
Death Becomes Her, The Musical plays at the Lunt-Fontanne Theater, 205 West 46th St., Manhattan. Running time is 2 hours 20 minutes. For more information visit deathbecomesher.com
