Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812: and the angels weep

14 Jan 2024 - Photos by Dahlia Katz

They say we are asleep 
Until we fall in love 
We are children of dust and ashes 
But when we fall in love we wake up 
And we are a god 
And angels weep

This magnificent production of Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 was waylaid by a pandemic, then the opening was delayed by remnants of that pandemic, and my viewing was delayed by almost exactly a month by a personal attack by the pandemic. That I got, that we get, to experience Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 at all is a minor miracle. That it is such an extraordinarily exuberant production of some deliciously dark material is due to the marshalling of theatrical resources that are the heartbeat of this city's cultural landscape. We may have been asleep but fears that the theatre would not return triumphant have been proven emphatically wrong: they are gods and we are in love. The angels weep.

Arriving at Crow's Theatre, I was initially discombobulated by the lobby pulsating to the sound of ABBA's greatest hits. It seemed a weird choice to set the stage for a serious musical based on a fragment of Tolstoy's War and Peace. But, as Mamma Mia proved, it is impossible not to hum along and be at least superficially seduced by ABBA. Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 composer, librettist and orchestrator Dave Malloy (Ghost Quartet) uses the same pop music spiced with artistic borrowings to go beyond seduction to complete capitulation to being ravished. Which, for a tale where an innocent is seduced and ruined, is also metaphorically apt. Malloy sets the lyrics, often very Tolstoy-ish, on top of melodies that would not be out of place in the lip-synching of a pop princess, and consistent beats to drive it forward. A nightclub becomes an anachronistic rave with full electronics, voices take over the beat to add a haunting humanity, fragile but insistent, to propel a keening ballad.

Of course none of it would work without powerful vocals, and this production is packed with extraordinary triple threats. The slim shoulders of Hailey Gillis (The Shape of Home, UnCovered, Ghost Quartet, Rose, Onegin) do hefty narrative and emotional lifting. A lament for her faraway fiancé makes one fervently believe those hoary clichés of musical theatre romance, until she has a sexual awakening and she embraces us with the ecstatic rapture of carnal desire. Pure acting using the notes of the scale and a lot of heart. The other clever conceit of the orchestrations is to, with one important exception, have the pop elements undercut or overloaded by crystal clear musical theatre voices. The legendary Louise Pitre is riveting singing a shopping list before plumbing the depths of rage and despair in incendiary fashion. The rich bass baritone of Marcus Nance (Frankenstein Revived) is so sensual and deep that he conveys a lotharian domination that is inverted to uproarious effect,.before reverting to heartbreaker status. Camille Eanga-Selenge (Caroline, or Change, The Wizard of Oz) laces a mawkish mid-tempo number with such simple sincerity that it is searing. Heeyun Park weaves duplicity into the very fabric of the notes, and Lawrence Libor (Lil' Red Robin Hood) is a subtle and adroit master of ceremonies.

Evan Buliung (Sunday in the Park with George, Fun Home, The Audience) is the Pierre to Gillis's Natasha, and while her plotline is romance and drama, his is angst and metaphorical despair. It is the trickiest sort of singing to project and Buliung holds the audience in the palm of his hand, his personal sorrow seeping into our psyches. Then there are the exceptions. Divine Brown (Obeah Opera) delivers a master class in louche Las Vegas lounge style. Starting sotto voce so we are drawn to her every word, she builds and builds, almost imperceptibly until she shreds the fourth wall (which has already been breeched) and raises her arms demanding well-deserved applause. She is so mesmerizing that she isn't upstaged by the appearance of a shirtless George Krissa (The Man with the Golden Heart) which cues boy band worthy squeals and screams from the audience. Krissa, playing the irresistible seducer irresistibly, has his vocal lines set in a tenor range that keeps them, except for a startlingly strong falsetto, from achieving commanding stature. Which makes sense thematically and which he compensates for with some show-offy sustained notes that are quite remarkable.

But Krissa's purpose in Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 is to be the sex object. He is a villain but one who's appeal cannot be denied. Krissa is extraordinarily good-looking and this role milks and mocks and worships that aspect of his talents. That is the essence of Anatole, who lives only for pleasures of the flesh, and Krissa embodies it with a good-humoured ease delivered with an in-on-the-joke smirk. The furthest deviation from the dichotomy this production presents is Andrew Penner (The Shape of Home, UnCovered, Ghost Quartet). HIs boisterous Balaga is a comic diversion delivered with a raspy Waitsian flourish. It must be noted that all of the cast, including the ensemble and musicians who all also vocalize, harmonize like dreams. And somehow music director Ryan deSouza manages to fill the space with sound while keeping the vocals crystal clear. This matters as there are a lot of words. A lot of words to flesh out a minimal plot and a complicated set of metaphors. Unlike a standard musical, where a character sings their emotional state, Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 has the singers describe their state, literally singing "I burst into sobs" instead of doing so.

The distancing device is crucial and it circles back to ABBA. Like the blues, pop music, and Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812, upbeat melodies are used to express tragic thoughts. Buliung's Pierre is in existential despair and accurately predicts that the comet foretells doom. Gillis's Natasha is destroyed socially and emotionally by Krissa's Anatole. Russian literature is very rarely cheery. Yet director Chris Abraham stages Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 as an opulent immersive vodka-shot driven party. The fourth wall comes and goes as we are exhorted to clap along and those at the front become part of the choreography, comedy and action. The central stage is a revolving platform which does some heavy scene-setting and conceptual illustrating, but there are musicians scattered on balconies on all three sides, with staircases and aisles through the audience. Characters pop up and engage or make entrances, race up the stairs and down. It is more exhilarating than exhausting and the party invitation feels sincere. And irresistible. If we knew the score we would sing along.

It can be disconcerting to see an actor close up, see them singing but hearing the electronic version of their vocal in the mix. It can be disconcerting to suddenly need to whip around to where a character has appeared with something important to sing. It can be difficult to keep track of the web of relationships that explode into a telenovela at breakneck speed in the second act. But  that appears to be part of the grand design. I was having so much fun, carried along by the beat-happy music with earwormy spikes of dissonance and the fabulous vocals, that the tragic undertones didn't grip until long after the curtain call. Tolstoy and Malloy were wrestling with fate, with horror. The comet is symbolized by a large round mirror rimmed with neon that dominates and recedes as needed. The same mirror that stands in for a heartless moon and that Natasha stares into unable to discover a future. Whether the high spirits of this production undercut or amplify the themes will depend on the audience member. For me, it took an incredible and indescribably entertaining experience and lanced it with reality and mortality. When the cast sings that "there's a war out there somewhere," it's impossible not to be aware of current events and feel stabbings of guilt. But how could one resist raising a shot of vodka in the midst of a glorious burst of colour and music that is Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812?

One leaves a good musical humming a song. One leaves a great musical humming and thinking. When I left Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812, humming and thinking, there was a line of school buses parked outside. And it suddenly dawned on me that a good portion of the audience had been significantly younger than I am used to seeing. And significantly more enthusiastic. Engaged. If I, jaded and overly critical, had been so enthralled, it is no wonder that this audience was converted to the temple of musical theatre. They had fallen in love, woken up. And the angels wept.