Circular Reasoning

IT WOULD BE a shame to think that the delightful mime movements executed by Steve Kolzak (Littlechap) during the first ten minutes of Stop The World are fully, even partially, appreciated by only the first few rows of the Quincy dining room audience. Yet this seems to be the case--judging from the turbulence and number of outstretched necks among those further back--in an otherwise outstanding, finely-conceived production. One may wonder why a relatively simple solution, that of raising the central stage area by about two feet, was not put into effect, nor realized by the director and set designer. This single problem takes a disproportionate chunk out of the first part of the show, which fortunately picks up momentum quickly enough not only to save the show, but to add luster to it as well.

Anyone who has seen The Roar of the Greasepaint, The Smell of The Crowd--the "other" Anthony Newley musical--will quickly recognize Newley's rather facile method of symbolism, and the familiar, characteristic nature of his melodies. Like Cocky, the central character of Greasepaint, Littlechap represents the little-guy/clown figure, valiantly struggling against innumerable forces and the temptations of the world. Because this world is often overpowering, he is occasionally forced to stop it, in order to escape temporarily any nightmare or turmoil he brings down on himself. We initially see him attempting--and failing--to entertain an imagined dream audience, then lapsing further into a fantasy version of the real world in which he is forced into a shotgun marriage with Typically English Evie. While he is working his way up the executive ladder of success, we follow Littlechap on his business trips around the world as he enjoys the pleasures of Glorious Russian Anya, Typische Deutsche Ilse, and All-American Ginnie.

SUCCESS DOES come in the end, but too late: Both of his daughters are married and pregnant (not necessarily in that order--it "runs in the family") and his wife has deserted him. Alone once more, it is now that Littlechap realizes his mistake of loving only himself. And then magically, we are transported back into his original fantasy setting, the equivalent of Littlechap's "real" world. For as he explains, the most beautiful thing about a circle is that it has no end and no beginning: "'What's so important about that?' you might ask...well, at least it gives you something to think about," Littlechap declares at the end; after which he, too, retreats into his state of circular existence, gently subsiding into the fetal position and womb whence he came. Perhaps this is all a bit contrived or pretentious, but one must take Newley thought schemes with a grain of salt. And here, in an honest and unassuming production, one can accept the show for what it is. In any case, this rather bizarre setting is compatible with the array of familiar tunes, including such heavy-weights as "Gonna Build A Mountain," "Once In A Lifetime," and "What Kind of Fool Am I?"

Under Pam Berlin's adept direction, there are several inspired performances drawn from a solid cast. As Evie, Anya, Ilse, and Ginnie, Amanda Gari is impressively versatile; the rapid-fire appearance in Act II of all her characters--accomplished beautifully with skillful costume changes--is a virtual tour de force. Gari has a lovely voice, and comfortably takes command of the stage. She is balanced by Steve Kolzak, a fine Littlechap who possesses a type of intense, internal energy reminiscent of Anthony Newley's personal style. This quality is reflected in Kolzak's voice, effective whether he is singing the lively "I Wanna Be Rich" or the sentimental "What Kind Of Fool Am I?"

Choreographer Cassie Freeland's imaginative staging blends well with Berlin's direction, especially the more subtle examples of pantomime (which, again, is all too often obscured from the majority of the audience). In several instances, as in Littlechap's sword-swallowing and bullfighting sequences, it is crucial that each gesture be seen clearly, no matter how small or unimportant it might appear. For only then can one recognize all of the nuances of Kolzak's and the other performances, which were also enhanced by a good orchestra utilizing numerous sound effects, all under the direction of Barry Cohen.

EXCEPT FOR the height problem (which might also be remedied partially by staggering the audience seats), Paul Eisenberg's functional set--a series of steps forming a stadium-like arrangement--aids in creating a feeling of isolation between Littlechap and the world. Thus, whenever Littlechap decides to stop the proceedings, as it were, he is simply able to get off his perch and momentarily walk away from the problem, which is always anchored conveniently on the "steps of life." Except for the brief appearance of the Boy, Littlechap is the only male member of the cast, and Susan Ehrlich's costumes further enrich this aspect of his constant solitude.

Written in the early sixties, Stop The World can hardly be considered as dated as many of the popular musicals from the fifties, yet it reveals signs of aging in a manner with which most of us can now identify. We are thus very conscious of Littlechap and friends twisting to music that remotely resembles the twangy score from a beach party movie, while another cast member in pantomime swings with a transistor radio glued to her right ear; or the lighthearted slaps at Russia and Germany, jokes that could only have come from a cold war mentality. "Gonna Build A Mountain" (what seems to be a sixties-style, jazzed up version of a black spiritual) exemplifies the overriding sense of fragile optimism representative of the era. Whether or not one wishes to see it as an indicator of its age, Stop The World is a relatively small-scale, intimate musical: like a circle, it will give you something to think about.