Nicole Scherzinger makes stellar Broadway debut

When Andrew Lloyd Webber’s stage adaptation of the 1950 Billy Wilder film Sunset Avenue Premiered in London in 1993 and on Broadway the following year, it was arguably the last gasp of the ’80s megamusical aesthetic – at least until shows like The Lion King and Evil came to adjust the formula. The success of box office hits like Cats, Les Miserable, The Phantom of the Opera and Miss Saigon was driven as much by his large-scale spectacle as his musical skill. Probably more.

The public flocked Cats for its then-revolutionary immersive junkyard mise-en-scène and the climactic ascension to the skies of the faded feline Grizabella on an enormous tire. In Les Misérablesit was the huge turntable and the big reveal of the Paris Uprising barricade. Ghost caused a huge chandelier to fall on the stage and Miss Saigon flew in a helicopter to evacuate the last Americans at the end of the Vietnam War.

With SunsetIt was the stairs that caused sighs. Dominating the decadent splendor of Norma Desmond’s mansion, the ornate structure was designed for the former silent film star’s grand entrance, as well as her final descent into madness. Stars like Patti LuPone, Glenn Close and Betty Buckley descended the stairs, dressed in elegant outfits that evoked Salome, the doomed princess Norma dreamed of playing in a delirious comeback vehicle.

This opulent story made the musical an unusual choice for British director Jamie Lloyd, known for minimalist, modern productions that strip away sets and props to excavate the dramatic core of the text with penetrating clarity. The most celebrated of these—on both sides of the Atlantic—include Betrayal with Tom Hiddleston, A doll house with Jessica Chastain and Cyrano de Bergerac with James McAvoy.

So how come Sunset Avenue.as the show is titled here, cope without all the golden grandeur that allowed Norma to remain locked in her fantasy of eternal stardom? Magnificently, it seems. Despite a few full-length numbers of varying effectiveness, Lloyd turned what was once a behemoth into a four-character chamber musical, ingeniously designed in atmospheric black and white, like Wilder’s film, until the murder bathes the stage in blood red. .

I confess that I always thought Sunset Avenue like a second-rate musical elevated by some great songs and the glorious set-destroying opportunities it offers its protagonists. This is the first time I’ve actually considered this a devastating tragedy with something to say to contemporary audiences. His reflections on the cruelty of aging and obsolescence, the addictive allure of fame, the currency of youth and beauty, and the sad refuge of madness have never been so painful.

Lloyd Webber’s lush score is well served by a cast of uniformly strong singers, and Don Black and Christopher Hampton’s book captures the film’s macabre darkness. But this production belongs to the director and its star.

The headline of the revival of Lloyd’s, which comes to Broadway after winning Olivier Awards in its London run, is Nicole Scherzinger’s sensational performance as Norma. Many wondered if the artist, who became famous for the early 2000s girl group Pussycat Dolls, was too young or if she had the stage presence and acting talent for the role. But those concerns almost disappear from the moment she’s hoisted by the chorus into the spotlight during the rollicking opening credits of Lloyd’s live capture, just as the title appears in the boldest red fonts.

Gloria Swanson was 50 when the film was made and Scherzinger is 46, which accurately tracks a show set in 1949 about a woman who started in silent films at age 16. Inflected in her characterization, there’s a poignant subtext to the casting of Scherzinger, who has aged out of mainstream pop — though in her case, musical theater may be her true calling.

Scherzinger’s sweeping vocal power, especially on the musical’s signature songs, “With One Look” and “As If We Never Said Goodbye,” is astonishing, literally stopping the show with its soaring money notes and dramatic key changes. She is the rare Norma who also has flexible dance moves. His command is never in doubt, and Lloyd provides unimpeded access to all of his emotions, often giving Norma what she wants most: a camera and a close-up.

Mounted on a structure that occasionally doubles as a steering wheel, these cameras are operated by both choir members and directors. While Scherzinger is mesmerizing as she prowls like a panther, barefoot and wearing a simple black satin slip, the moments we watch her perform in double – live on stage, looking straight into the camera and splashed in black and white on the giant, screen sloping back – enjoy sizzling intimacy.

Her Norma has the melodramatic grandeur of the silent film era—bright eyes, splayed fingers, and arms so tense we see every sinew. But there is also a rich vein of sardonic, exaggerated humor. This aspect recedes as the pathos creeps in, gradually building to an unbalanced crescendo. As she is driven to murder, the star’s long headband of black hair makes her look like a possessed woman straight out of J-horror.

The victim of this homicide, for the TCM-averse who have never seen Wilder’s brilliant film, is unemployed screenwriter Joe Gillis. This isn’t a spoiler, as the film began with William Holden floating face down, dead in Norma’s pool, while Lloyd begins the show with Tom Francis’ Joe unzipping a body bag. He promises to tell us “the real story,” not the tabloid version.

The excellent Francis – who like all four directors is reprising his London role – finds an ideal balance between Joe’s cynical opportunism and his charm. In some ways, he’s no worse than the emotionally manipulative Norma, who is always ready for a suicide attempt to ensure she keeps her man kept.

Joe is at a professional dead end, unable to launch a project and too disillusioned to accept an offer from smart young script editor Betty Schaefer (Grace Hodgett Young, charming) to collaborate on the adaptation of one of his short stories. He is fleeing loan sharks when his car enters the garden of Norma’s mansion, where she and her devoted butler Max (David Thaxton, what a voice!) are about to bury their pet chimpanzee and mistake him for an undertaker.

A mention of Joe and Norma’s profession plays on the idea of ​​having him help polish their epic screenplay. Salome. Despite knowing the project will never see the light of day, Joe is persuaded by the smell of easy money. Before he realizes what’s happening, Max moves his belongings to a room above the garage. Norma’s interest in Joe quickly turns into love; she moves him to the main house and dresses him in sharp new threads before sweeping him across the floor in a tango at a New Year’s party, during which he discovers he is the only guest.

By cutting two throwaway songs, “The Lady’s Paying” and “Eternal Youth Is Worth a Little Suffering,” Lloyd intensifies the focus on the frayed threads of what’s left of Norma’s sanity. She makes what in her head is a stately return to Paramount to meet Cecil B. DeMille (Shavey Brown, seen only as a close-up silhouette on screen) and, despite her evasive answers about the script Max turned in a week earlier, is far from convinced that she will soon be back in front of the cameras.

Jack Knowles’ lighting – often peering through clouds of smoke – is rapturously moody, notably his striking use of period pin spots that cast dramatic shadows. But the most visually stunning sequence is when Norma walks onto the stage where DeMille is filming and is instantly transported. When an unseen crew member atop a crane recognizes her from the old days, she is bathed in a golden spotlight that is made all the more dazzling by the show’s predominantly monochromatic design.

Scherzinger’s sweeping performance of “As If We Never Said Goodbye” heightens this magical moment, building to a devastating climax in the phrase “I’m finally back home.” You might roll your eyes at the vocal showmanship of holding the note for what seems like an impossibly long time on the word “home,” but it’s undeniably effective, generating huge applause mid-song.

Norma’s imagined triumph places her in a higher place from which she can fall, and its unraveling is accelerated by the discovery that Joe has begun sneaking out to see Betty and work on the script. Betty is romantically involved with Joe’s best friend Artie (Diego Andres Rodriguez), but when her affections shift to Joe, he has even more incentive to break free from Norma’s possessive clutches.

Having Scherzinger take center stage through it all – including Max’s explanation to Joe of her selfless loyalty and years of deception to make the lady of the house believe her fans never abandoned her – makes Norma a witness to her own humiliation.

Lloyd’s staging of the ensemble numbers is less convincing than the more intimate songs, and Fabian Aloise’s choreography can get a little hyperactive, like a mashup of A chorus line and West Side History. Though the panic of the final scenes dovetails with the lurch into fever-dream horror, it becomes distractingly frenetic, with the directors sprinting diagonally back and forth across the stage like track competitors.

The choreography works best in frightening moments with young Norma (Hannah Yun Chamberlain), who – in an expressive device borrowed from Madness – stalks the stage like a ghost, occasionally invading Salome’s “Dance of the Seven Veils.”

A much-discussed sequence expands on an idea of ​​Lloyd’s ending A doll house by taking the action outside the theater, also recalling Ivo van Hove’s video-saturated film Network. When the intermission ends and the orchestra begins to play, Francis makes his way, in front of the cameras, through the labyrinthine backstage corridors and staircases, peering into the dressing rooms of his co-stars.

There are silly but amusing jokes – Thaxton fascinated by a promotional photo of the Pussycat Dolls pinned to his mirror; a life-size cutout of Andrew Lloyd Webber; someone in a chimpanzee outfit; two chorus boys kissing; Scherzinger scrawling “Crazy about the boy” on her mirror in lipstick. These winking meta touches echo other period shifts, like anachronistic dance moves, the set’s contemporary streetwear, or the laptop on which Joe and Betty’s script takes shape, with a Jamie Lloyd Company coffee mug next to it.

Theater and cinema converge to brilliant effect at the beginning of Act II, when Joe opens a door and steps out onto 44th Street. He launches into the title song, a bitter tirade about Hollywood’s dream factory, as he passes Sardi’s and turns the corner onto Shubert Alley before turning back and taking the stage on the final note.

This virtuoso camera choreography, encompassing a prime stretch of Broadway real estate, seems to suggest that showbiz glory can be equally fickle in any medium. As Norma watches all this on screen, we can almost see the cracks forming in her illusory world.

Location: St. James Theatre, New York
Cast: Nicole Scherzinger, Tom Francis, Grace Hodgett Young, David Thaxton, Diego Andres Rodriguez, Hannah Yun Chamberlain, Shavey Brown
Music: Andrew Lloyd Webber
Book and lyrics: Don Black, Christopher Hampton
Director: Jamie Lloyd
Scenographer and costume designer: Soutra Gilmour
Lighting Designer: Jack Knowles
Sound Designer: Adam Fisher
Video Designers-Directors: Nathan Amzi, ​​Joe Ransom
Orchestrations: David Cullen, Andrew Lloyd Webber
Musical direction: Alan Williams
Choreographer: Fabian Aloise
Presented by The Jamie Lloyd Company, ATG Productions, Michael Harrison for Lloyd Webber Harrison Musicals, Gavin Kalin Productions