Warm and fuzzy, this 'Giant Peach' tastes simply sweet

Taking its cue from the inanimate protagonist of this production, James and the Giant Peach offers a warm and fuzzy break from the cold-hearted days of February and midterms. Producer Jami Harrison, PC '03, and choreographer/director Brian Lizotte, MC '00, have added a tinge of optimism to Roald Dahl's humorous take on the traditional fairy tale. This music, composed by Phil Gorman, TC '01, combines the necessary elements of fantasy—flying, sudden deaths of the evil characters, and of course charmed worms—with the band's jazzy interludes.

KATHERINE ALDRICH/YH Rejected from other mixed company, James rushes the Federation of Insects. Look out for Hell Week, James!

As the show begins, Lizotte enters the stage with the promise of a "magical tale." "Do you believe in magic?" he asks, then whispers that, at the count of three, everyone should shout, "We believe in magic!" We have to help him out, he explains, because the actors are nervous and will only come out if we give them a big round of applause.

Settled in by this introduction, the audience is prepared for the narrator's (Diana Peterfreund, MC '01) beginning. James' parents have died, leaving him all alone and in tears. He has been sent to live with his wicked aunts (Lila Tschappat, ES '00, and Lisa Weiser, SY '02), a pair of hilarious, money-grubbing sisters who love to "beat, mistreat and cheat" the poor orphan. One coincidence leads to another as Green Man (Peterfreund) gives James some magic green worms, which he subsequently loses and then forgets—until the always-barren peach tree absorbs the magic. A giant peach grows and the aunts organize the lucrative Peach Park to show off this fruit they've dubbed their own. Fortunately, their greed is so blinding that they don't notice as the peach swells to such a size that the branch can't hold it anymore; the fruit falls from the branch, rolls down the hill, and squashes every-thing in its way, including the aunts.

With the malice stamped out of the story, James can finally make some friends, and life seems to begin for him when he comes upon a pack of insects who breakdance and argue. Their interaction proves to be the most charming part of this production as they sing witty songs to the accompaniment of a great band led by Gorman. The motley crew includes a curious pink earthworm (Tony Weiss, ES '02) who is terrified of everything, a silent but electric glowworm, a conceited, fashionable centipede (Tschappat), a cheerful ladybug (Jill Cohen, JE '03), and the fatherly grasshopper (Patrick Hazelton, ES '02) who welcomes James into their Federation of Insects.

Theater

James and the Giant Peach Produced by Jami Harrison Directed and choreographed by Brian Lizotte Fri., Feb. 25, 7 and 9 p.m.; Sat., Feb. 26, 1, 3, and 7 p.m.; Sun., Feb. 27, 1 and 3 p.m. Yale Children's Theater 248 Park St. $2

Anyone can be a hero and girls can be boys, Catherine Davis, ES '03, reminds us in her role as an androgynous James. Freed from the warden aunties, he becomes an upbeat leader of adventures and a clever strategist for any predicament. When the peach rolls out to sea and everyone suddenly realizes he never learned to swim, James and his buddies float on this "botanic miracle" of food for a while, and when sharks eat through the center, James devises a plan that saves the day.

Just as the seagulls drag off James and the cast of insects for a flight over the Atlantic, the audience too is uplifted by the quick solutions doled out to cope with every problem. The insects feed off one another and encourage James in his clever solutions for escaping disaster. The helpful seagulls take them "all the way across the Atlantic to America!" and when the group lands on the Empire State Building with hopes for a new life, the narrator explains, "Heroes hardly ever make mistakes." Neither do these actors, who obviously enjoy their carefree roles as bugs enough to sing and dance like children, without inhibitions or blushing.

Like a glowworm in the darkness of so many disturbing and sometimes maddeningly intellectual performances here at Yale, James and the Giant Peach shines with simplicity. Suddenly, "once upon a time" and happy endings are original, overwhelmed only too soon by the familiar humdrum of reality. After singing an ode to the "jubilation of fruit," the cast in the end marches out through the audience with cheerful invitations for playdates.

Back to A&E...