Where’s the Bitch? Evita at the Auditorium

By Rachelle Bowden in Arts & Entertainment on Nov 23, 2004 12:13PM

Wish that we had better news to report from Friday’s performance of Evita at the Auditorium, but when the highlight of the night is the leading man falling off the stage into the orchestra pit five minutes into the opening number, something’s gone awry.

That’s right: executing a knee slide meant to end at the foot of the stage, actor Bradley Dean instead launched himself into the pit, no doubt surprising the unsuspecting orchestra members below. The show stopped, the lights came up, everyone survived. We were glad of that. (Our theatrical motto: “drama yes, death no”).

Ten minutes later, the show went on. At which point the gladness mutated into boredom.

If ever a musical cried out for bold interpretations (hell, let’s just call it overacting), it’s Evita. It’s the story of an unstoppable force of nature driven by cold-hearted ambition—and that’s it, no room for sympathy, no time for nuance. A one-note narrative with a one-note score, which is swell so long as you cast actors who can make it believable. Which is where this production falls short.

Kathy Voytko’s Evita looked lovely, her voice was pliant and pretty, but the overall effect was flat. She gave no sense of the character’s charisma or blinding self-confidence, nothing to suggest that this was a woman capable of “seducing a nation,” as the old saw goes. She simply wasn’t ballsy enough, in voice or attitude, to be convincing.

So we fidgeted in our seats during Eva’s early years, as we watched her sleep her way into the bed of Juan Peron, the country’s emerging leader. We shrugged when she raised her arms to the masses to deliver her calling card–“Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina”–and yawned when at last she took to her deathbed. We were not sorry to see her go.

The character of Che, the show’s designated puppet master, was likewise afflicted. Bradley Dean worked hard at it, but, the early stage dive notwithstanding, failed to find the passion that fueled the character’s hatred of the Peron regime. This might ultimately be the fault of the show’s creators, but we don’t remember Che being quite so pissy in other productions.

Ultimately, what we saw was this: a pair of decent, dedicated performers who could sing, but not act, these particular songs. There’s a delicate but tangible distinction between the two, and it's a matter of chemistry and good old-fashioned stage presence. When it's there, it's electrifying; when it's not, it's deathly dull.

And when it's deathly dull, we’re left hoping somebody else takes a header into the orchestra pit.

Thanks, Kari!