Lees hier de recensie van Ben Brantley in de New York Times. Hij heeft zich niet echt vermaakt. Integendeel hij verveelde zich en het voelde aan alsof hij naar een museumstuk zat te kijken.
Many and exhausting are the physical activities that occupy the long hours of “The Pirate Queen,” the loud and restless musical that opened last night at the Hilton Theater.
Sword fights, frolicsome jigs, flag hoisting, rope pulling, stately processions, mincing minuets and hearty river dancing (with ship paddles, no less): such circulation-stimulating exercises occur regularly in this singing costume drama of love and patriotism on the high seas — sometimes, it seems, all at the same time.
Yet everything ultimately blurs into what feels like the aimless milling of a crowd on a carnival midway. The operating theory behind “The Pirate Queen” would appear to be taken from an appropriately ocean-themed bit of zoology: if, like a shark, it never stops moving, then it will stay alive. The optimism is misplaced.
“The Pirate Queen” is the latest work from the songwriters Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg, who became the ultimate power poperetta team with the blockbusters “Les Misérables” and “Miss Saigon.” The timing of their most recent collaboration — inspired by the life and legend of Grace O’Malley, an Irish pirate leader in the age of Elizabeth I — is unfortunate on several levels.
For one thing, it really isn’t fair to open the poor “Pirate Queen” when a revival of “Les Misérables” is running just two blocks away. Granted, the current “Misérables” is smaller and tinnier than the original (which closed only in 2003). But it plies the same historical-epic formula as “The Pirate Queen” to far more coherent and compelling ends. There’s not a ballad or choral number in “The Pirate Queen” that doesn’t sound like a garbled echo of a more stirring tune from “Les Miz,” given the requisite touch of green via musical accents of pennywhistle, uilleann pipes and Gaelic harps. And why wasn’t it arranged for “The Pirate Queen,” which features various hoist-a-glass anthems to the Irish soul, to open on St. Patrick’s Day?
Timing is against this musical in a more significant sense as well. “The Pirate Queen” registers as a relic of a long-gone era, and I don’t mean the 1500s. The big-sound, big-cast show pioneered by Messrs. Boublil and Schönberg is now as much a throwback to the 1980s as big hair and big shoulders. The crushing tidal waves of music that emanate from the stage, eardrum-tingling as they are, seem to come from distant shores indeed.
It’s the decibel level that keeps you awake at “The Pirate Queen,” with its direction by Frank Galati and musical staging by Graciela Daniele, who worked together on “Ragtime.” Never mind that the production’s individual elements have all clearly been picked for their audience-rousing potential, including those halfhearted, stage-bruising Celtic dance sequences (choreographed by Carol Leavy Joyce) created to appeal to “Riverdance” fans. (The show’s Irish husband-and-wife producers, Moya Doherty and John McColgan, created the popular “Riverdance” spectacle.)
The plot, in addition to its swashbuckling picturesqueness, aims to deliver firm thumps to feminist and nationalist reflexes. Grace (Stephanie J. Block) is not only a young woman who proves she can take charge in a man’s world (rather like the feisty young heroines of animated Disney musicals of the last two decades). She also speaks up (or sings up) against the oppression of the Irish by the English, which occasions full-hearted, intricately harmonized, standard-issue anthems in the second act.
Against a backdrop of lush-colored skies that suggest a Wild West sequence from an MGM musical of the 1950s, Grace proves her mettle to her chieftain/sea captain father (Jeff McCarthy) by saving a ship in a thunderstorm and fighting off a hundred or so bloodthirsty Englishmen.
“I should be free,” she sings, “Free to be Grace/So I can feel the wind on my face!” The lyrics in this almost entirely sung-through show are by Mr. Boublil, Richard Maltby Jr. (who collaborated with Mr. Boublil and Mr. Schönberg on the book) and John Dempsey. They often have such sweaty, shoehorned rhymes, it is as if they had been invented on the spot.
Grace goes on to marry a dissolute rake (Marcus Chait) to bring peace to the warring Irish clans while remaining true in her fashion to her first love, Tiernan (the Leonardo DiCaprio look-alike Hadley Fraser). Finally, she confronts Queen Elizabeth I herself to plead for the rights of her people. Grace trumps Elizabeth because, although she may be only a pirate queen, at least she’s not a virgin queen. A model for postfeminist femininity, Grace sings in the final scene:
I fought my wars on land and sea
To be a woman strong and free
I should have learned, at journey’s start,
No woman’s free who ignores her heart.
Grace’s journey of the heart takes place in breathless double time, and it’s often hard to tell how many years have elapsed between scenes. The special-event pageantry of Eugene Lee’s sets, Martin Pakledinaz’s costumes and Kenneth Posner’s lighting rarely clarifies the plot. And Mr. Galati’s staging tends to step on what should be breathtaking climaxes or curtain lines. (I was never sure in the death scenes when, or even if, characters had really died.)
Ms. Block works hard to give a truly felt, realistic performance, and she sings attractively in her quieter moments. (Under pressure, this Pirate Queen turns into a Celine Dion screecher.) But the production keeps undercutting her, both by haziness of focus and a slow drift toward campiness.
The show’s queen of camp is, as she should be, its Queen Elizabeth, played by Linda Balgord. (William Youmans, as her conniving courtier, gives her a run for her money with an interpretation that brings to mind Vincent Price at his snarkiest.)
Ms. Balgord, who played Norma Desmond in the national tour of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Sunset Boulevard,” appears to be continuing that performance here, which is kind of enjoyable when you’re starved for distraction.
Mr. Pakledinaz has given her an increasingly deluxe and unwieldy series of queenly gowns, which wind up being high points of visual wit — or, for that matter, of any wit. It says a lot that the most compelling question posed by this fuzzy musical is, “What will Elizabeth wear next?”