Concrete Playground

I am yet to grasp the unending desire for converting plays/films/books/discographies into musicals. Though there are a few pieces of musical theatre that really excite me, I've sadly found that many are the theatrical equivalent of a mother bird eating and then regurgitating worms into the mouths of her squawking babies. Music as a medium can produce some of the most profound and moving experiences — whether in the nightclub or behind a red curtain — and so it disappoints me when good ideas are digested down into a sugar pop format.

I am not a fan of Steven Sater's adaptation of Frank Wedekind's passionate caveat to nineteenth-century German parents and teachers. Sater has rendered down Wedekind's dark, provocative piece into something as confronting as the underwear section of a Target catalogue. Yes, they sing about rape, yes, they sing about masturbation and, yes, there is an abortion, but these issues appear and scatter across the stage quicker than cockroaches.

Gone is the harsh act of fourteen-year-old Melchior raping Wendla (now they are little more than a self-aware Romeo and Juliet, cursing their fuddy-duddy elders), and the evolution of Hanschen and Ernst's homosexual affair is replaced instead with some limp wrists, a throw-away expository line and a "daring" kiss. The original Wedekind was banned numerous times throughout its 120 year history and only then it was performed after heavy censoring. I would argue that this melodious conversion happily upholds that tradition.

How then has director Geordie Brookman (Baghdad Wedding) dealt with Sater's honeyed libretto? First, he's assembled an attractive cast that'll ensure a boom in opera glass sales amongst peeping toms. Second, he's cast performers who are primarily singers — a mixed bag of a decision, given that there are some long sequences of straight dialogue throughout the play. Third, and most brilliantly, Brookman has had lighting designer Niklas Pajanti create a frozen shower of countless naked light bulbs, all winking in and out of intensity as if communicating the true story of this tragedy via Morse code.

Out of the leads, Akos Armont's Moritz Stiefel presents the most unique energy, creating a boy who is always on the verge of explosion from the pressures of his erupting pubescence. In contrast, Andrew Hazzard's Melchior and Clare Bowen's Wendla tend to err on the side of down tempo, giving their performances a very Home and Away feel, rather than that of an off-Broadway musical.

Ultimately, Spring Awakening is going to appeal to a wide audience of music and dance lovers, especially those either in their teens or still connected to that adolescent essence. However, anyone anticipating the shock of Wedekind's words would be better off watching Harmony Korine's Ken Park.

Image by Brett Boardman