Paradise
Reviewed by Paul Birchall
Ruskin Group Theatre
Extended through November 17
Every few years, a playwright or composer — usually someone who lives and works in the TV biz in LA or New York — pens a musical that takes place in some coastal dweller’s imagined vision of life in the flyover hellhole hinterlands. Oh, those barn-living, inbred yokels! Poking gentle fun at them is like shooting fish in a barrel. There’s the country bumpkin who sits in front of the general store all day, the daffy gal who bakes rhubarb pie, the creepy coots who like their cows a little too much, and so many more!
This edition is created by Bill Robertson, Tom Sage, and Cliff Wagner, who are credited as the authors and composers of this slick, if traditional, musical opus. Treading rather familiar ground, the work takes place in a hick Southern town, whose residents briefly trade their homespun happiness for the tawdry fame of an appearance on a reality TV show. The music is a mix of folksy country crooning and bluegrass, and the singers possess really quite lovely voices. However, the narrative is so slight it might blow away in a stiff breeze.
In the picturesque small town of Paradise, old geezer Ezra (Dave Florek) sits on the stoop outside the general store all day, while local gal Louanne (Kelsey Joyce) bakes a daily rhubarb pie for him. Louanne has lived in Paradise her whole life, but dreams of ditching the town to become a star in Nashville. Meanwhile, the quirky mayor (Chip Bolcik) makes a deal with a fiery minister (Jon Root) to create a reality TV program about the town for producer Peter (Jamie Daniels). The minister’s stated goal is to use the reality TV proceeds to fund his own megachurch — but it turns out that he has something far more devilishly infernal in mind for the community.
In director Michael Myers’ peppy if straightforward staging, the songs are pleasantly frothy, and the cast certainly is game for it. The book, however, plays like an early draft that needs serious workshopping before going before an audience. The gags are clumsy, the dialogue is flat, and the characters are neither campy enough to be funny nor realistic enough to be folksy. An awkward romantic subplot between a local and the Hollywood producer is lamely conceived and poorly executed. The satire feels as tired as last year’s lampooning of The Bachelorette, and the peppering of jokes about Trump throughout seem jarring and irrelevant.
The performances, however, almost salvage the piece. Root’s assured maniacal turn as the ambitious minister is a delight; his somber, grim expressions, juxtaposed with daffy choreography, bely the lunacy lurking beneath his flinty exterior. Root has a delicious baritone, too — the pulpit-thumping songs in which he urges the townsfolk to be as greedy as they can be are hilarious and rich. Paige Segal, as a whacko townsperson, has some great musical numbers as well — and so does Bolcik as the town’s deliciously slimy mayor. Some of the other performers have very nice voices, but are more hesitant and stiff in their acting.
In the end, we’re struck by the lack of originality and variety in the characters, who are neither whack-job-quirky nor small-town-sentimental enough to warm to. And the schematic, rather perfunctory plot just seems like a warmed-over copy of a copy of a copy that was stale to begin with.
Ruskin Group Theatre, 3000 Airport Ave., Santa Monica; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m.; extended through November 17. (310) 397-3244 or www.ruskingrouptheatre.com. Running time: 90 minutes with an intermission.
