Pimpernel's blade blooms without bloodshed

Straight from Broadway, The Scarlet Pimpernel, playing at the Shubert through Sat., Mar. 4, looks and feels as though it has been plucked from the bedroom shelf of a sleepy little girl weaned on classic Hollywood romances. It is a miracle of Valentine reds and pinks, of songs and dances that seem both familiar and new, all enclosed within the puppet theater set up by the first song, "Storybook." It drifts along with the casual remove of a daydream, and even the intrusion of a sharpened guillotine—which does, indeed, cut off a head early in the show—slices bloodlessly, as though through butter rather than bone.

COURTESY JOAN MARCUS Douglas Sills and Amy Bodnar are so happy they could jump.

In the Baroness Orczy's 1905 novel, which inspired Harry Potter-like reverence and 10 sequels in its day, 18th-century English gentleman Percy Blakeney organizes his effete comrades into a tough corps of revolutionaries who, between crumpets and gymkhana, find time to fight the excesses of the Reign of Terror in France. Like Robin Hood with lace frills, Percy and his pals free the good and just of Paris from the tyranny of Robespierre and his Committee of Public Safety and leave telltale notes—each marked with his family emblem, a "scarlet pimpernel"—behind them.

The story has been condensed for the stage into a series of key actions, centered around the marriage of Percy and his French wife Marguerite, Percy's burgeoning social conscience, and the revelation of Marguerite's earlier tryst with Robespierre's grim little protegee, Chauvelin. Like other Frank Wildhorn musicals, most notably The Civil War (which played the Shubert last year), the plotline unfolds as a combination of musical tableaux vivants and dialogue scenes. Unlike that show, though, Pimpernel gains momentum as the evening goes on and inspires genuine empathy by the end.

Much of this is due to the sharp direction of Robert Longbottem and his unflaggingly energetic ensemble, headed by Douglas Sills as Percy/Pimpernel. Sills is a marvel of comic timing and raw improvisational energy; few actors would be able to match his combination of calculated effeminacy, romantic bravado, and singing gusto. Amy Bodnar makes a charming and beautiful Marguerite. And, like so many baritones before him, William Paul Michals has the requisite brooding charm (and the best voice in the talented cast) to make him the heir to a line of black-clad arch-villains dating back to Simon Legree in Uncle Tom's Cabin. Jane Greenwood's costumes perfectly clothe the whole cast in the lighthearted spirit of the show, from bouffant pink-powdered wigs to the pastel jackets of Percy's posse.

The script does an economical job of keeping the plot moving along and the audience engaged. Percy is given a believable Anglo catchphrase ("Oh—sink me!"), and racy quips ("Englishmen are known for splendid balls") are alternated with more compassionate moments as Percy and Marguerite grope toward love. The show takes a long time to establish itself—the first 20 minutes or so, which contain several key plot elements, are difficult to follow—and once there, it settles on Percy's parody of aristocratic manners a little too long. It's difficult to believe that Percy is a true hero when his derring-do is confined to a couple of minutes of Disney-esque French fighting, as compared to the hour of primping and posing in the environs of his country house that makes up the rest of the first act.

Theater

The Scarlet Pimpernel Directed by Robert Longbottom Composed by Frank Wildhorn Book and lyrics by Nan Knighton Shubert Theater Through Sat., Mar. 4 $28 to $60

Frank Wildhorn's music is more of a mixed bag—some of it sounds surprisingly thin, and I seriously doubt that anyone will leave the theater humming it. In the first act in particular, his songs intrude upon a script that was doing just fine without them, failing to add much in terms of either character motivation or scenic color. "You are My Home," in which Percy and Marguerite sort of serenade each other, is an unfortunate jumble of musical clichés that typifies one of the central problems in the Wildhorn oeuvre: rather than earning emotional intensity as it continues, it just keeps getting louder. And despite Michals' vocal talents, Chauvelin's "Falcon in the Dive" is derivative (it sounds like it was ripped out of Javert's mouth from Les Miserablés) and is reprised far too often. On the other hand, "The Invention of Man," which culminates in a flamboyant kick-line, is a true showstopper, uncorking both Wildhorn's talent for old-style Broadway harmony and a flurry of wit from lyricist Nan Knighton [mother of Herald senior editor Nola Breglio, BK '01]. "Invention" ends the first act, and, luckily, sets the tone for a second act filled with music that complements the rapid ride to a happy ending.

At the end of the night, Pimpernel succeeds in the most significant way that musical theater can: it is impossible to see it without having a very good time. In a world filled with far too many bloodied guillotines, it offers a rare chance to experience history as a bright and joyful confection.

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