Great escape

The tricks are important to Houdini

by Steve Vineberg

HOUDINI Book by James Racheff. Music by William Scott Duffield. Lyrics by Duffield and Racheff. Directed and choreographed by Gabriel Barre. Music direction by Michael O'Flaherty. Sets designed by Loren Sherman. Costumes by Pamela Scofield. Lighting by Phil Monat. With Timothy Gulan, Lewis Cleale, Barbara Walsh, Barbara Andres, P.J. Benjamin, and Suzan Postel. At the Goodspeed Opera House, East Haddam, Connecticut, through December 14.

Early in the second act of the new musical Houdini, receiving its world premiere at the Goodspeed Opera House, a trio of fortunetellers (played by Natalie Blalock, Judith Jarosz, and Krissy Johnson) perform a lively comic number about scamming their customers while "magic designer" Peter Samelson's ghostly effects dance in the darkness around them. This novelty, with its merry echoes of "You Gotta Have a Gimmick" from Gypsy, is built on the richest irony in James Racheff's script: that escape artist Harry Houdini (Timothy Gulan), the world's most accomplished illusionist, should allow himself, in the depths of his grief over his mother's death, to be seduced by a brand of fakery different from his own.

If Houdini held to that tone of light-hearted cynicism, which recalls not only Gypsy but Pal Joey and Chicago, it might be the entertainment that a show built around its irresistible subject matter seems to promise. But it isn't really a musical comedy; it's a musical melodrama. Houdini is driven by his need to prove himself to his disapproving Jewish papa (Steve Pudenz); the death of his beloved mother (Barbara Andres) prompts him to dive off London Bridge in chains to flip off the grim reaper. His younger brother Theo (Lewis Cleale), originally the partner in his magic act, languishes in his shadow and covets his wife Bess (Barbara Walsh); Harry cheats on her, meanwhile, with the medium (Suzan Postel) he believes to be carrying messages to him from beyond the grave. Racheff's a hyperactive psychologizer, and often his perceptions about the characters arrive abruptly, without any preparation. When Theo complains at the end of act one that his brother has never shown any gratitude for his tireless assistance, it's the first we've heard of it. In fact, most of Theo's motivations are shrouded in ambiguity; nothing he does in act two, in particular, makes a hell of a lot of sense, especially his treatment of Houdini in the moments before his death.

Racheff and William Scott Duffield (the composer and Racheff's collaborator on the lyrics) are bent on reading Houdini's tricks as metaphors. He's not only defying death; he's escaping from the poverty of his immigrant past. Timothy Gulan, who looks like a more ethnic Tom Hanks, has so many layers of neurotic compensation to work through that, despite his air of professional ease, he forgets that he's playing an entertainer. To be honest, I like Gulan and his character best during Harry's courtship of Bess, when he uses his skill to unlock the doors she keeps shutting behind him, compelling her to listen to his protestations of affection.

Gabriel Barre's production is often very clever. He keeps it moving (a Goodspeed specialty), he includes some appealing tableaux, and the magic tricks are enjoyable. So is Loren Sherman's Magritte-ish set, in which door frames appear to be hinged to thin air and hunks of starry sky peek weirdly through holes in an upstage flat like the surprises in an advent calendar. But Barre can't disguise a script that's essentially misconceived, or a score -- miles and miles of it -- that's undistinguished. Gulan, Walsh, and Andres share a melodic trio ("The Letter"); the rest of the songs have the generic Broadway sound of imitation Sondheim mixed in with imitation Andrew Lloyd Webber.

The musical is set in the fascinating first three decades of the century, and a number of show-biz legends make appearances: Ziegfeld, Barnum, Buffalo Bill & Annie Oakley, as well as Martin Beck (P.J. Benjamin), the impresario who put Houdini on the map. But I was never convinced by the milieu, any more than I was by the rather turgid reading of Houdini's life. Though the show is overrun with ideas, it feels strangely unformed, as if Racheff and Duffield weren't convinced by any of them. Perhaps that's why the performers, who work very hard and sing very well, don't linger in the mind. They're not playing characters; they're stuck playing the results of the writers' brainstorming -- thoughts about the characters, hooked together like beads on a string. Only the magic tricks stay with you.