Musicals that started their lives as star vehicles have historically been a mixed bag. Sometimes a classic is born (Gypsy). Sometimes they can be meaningless fun, but still giving the star a terrific opportunity to strut their particular stuff (Little Me). Sometimes, despite being sort of a mess, they still provide us with a memorable star turn (The Boy from Oz). But there are some star vehicles that prove so utterly misguided that even the freakishly gifted performer they were written for can’t save them. Case in point: Kristin Chenoweth in The Queen of Versailles. While diminutive of stature, she could be built like a linebacker and still be unable to shoulder the burden of this witless, pointless show.
The Queen of Versailles tells the true story of Jackie Siegel, who rises from computer engineer to becoming the wife of a billionaire, with stops along the way as waitress, beauty queen, and the mother of eight children plus owner of eleven dogs. Her husband David (a criminally under-used F. Murray Abraham) makes his considerable fortune as a “Time-Share King” and is determined to give his new wife anything her heart desires. At the height of her newfound wealth, Jackie undertakes the building of the largest private home in America, modeled on the Palace of Versailles. When the Siegels go broke in the recession of 2008, construction on their home is halted and their lives begin to fall apart. Jackie’s pathetic attempts to save the day include selling off their possessions, becoming a television personality and cultivating an internet fan base. But in the end, the government steps in in classic Deus ex Machina style and suddenly the recession is over (for them at least) – they get to keep the house and their fortune is restored. The one major conflict our protagonist has to grapple with just goes away and…curtain! The question that reverberates almost from the very beginning is, “Why should we care about any of this?”
It’s almost comical how easy it is to remain emotionally disconnected from the Siegels and their journey. One can almost sense the writer’s begrudging awareness of this, as they repeatedly toss out reasons for us to care for this couple (Look, she’s a hard worker! Look she loves her dogs! Look they started a foundation! Now care about them, damn it!) The show is hopelessly confused, as it spends 2/3 of its running time working overtime to urge us to empathize with these solipsistic people, then in the last scenes focusing on the featured characters arguments against the Siegels. This is a musical about a deeply narcissistic woman who lucks into her money, consumes herself with materialistic pursuits, fails miserably as a parent, and learns virtually nothing along the way. Again, WHY exactly are we watching a musical about this perpetually distasteful woman? Who’s brainchild (i.e. fault) is this? There is usually one person who is the “engine” behind a musical – the one with whom the buck always stops. On a Jerome Robbins show, it was him. Mike Nichols typically had the final word on his projects. It tends to work out best when it’s either the director or the producer, but when the person calling the shots is neither one, problems often arise.
One can’t blame Chenoweth too much here- she’s a very specific type with a very specific set of talents (with one of the most glorious voices ever to grace a Broadway stage). But compare her with someone like Sutton Foster, who starred in six new Broadway musicals over a decade’s time. Chenoweth’s only Broadway success in a new show was Wicked, over twenty years ago. It would seem natural to for her to want to reunite with the writer she had that success with – Stephen Schwartz. However despite his songwriting ability, Schwartz has proven to be one of the least effective collaborators in modern Broadway history. He fought with Bob Fosse on Pippin, with David Merrick on The Bakers Wife, he took over the fired Joan Micklin Silver’s directorial duties on Rags (before the producers replaced them both with Gene Saks), both book writer Aaron Sorkin and Hugh Jackman abandoned Schwartz’s musical Houdini post-workshop, and the list goes on. In fact if one lines up the billing pages of all Schwartz’s musicals, you will almost never find a producer, director or choreographer who’s worked with him twice. His New York track record since Wicked has been consistently unsuccessful (I’m recalling Daniel Goldstien’s wretched Godspell at Circle in the Square and Gordon Greenberg’s painfully flaccid off-Broadway revival of The Baker’s Wife, currently at CSC). Schwartz doesn’t play well with others, and his shows are often examples of that. …Versailles is certainly no exception, offering us his most forgettable score to date. The songs begin to evaporate before they’re even over.
The real tragedy of what’s going on at the St. James is how much talent is wasted in serving such a misbegotten idea. Director Michael Arden has had a long stretch of recent Broadway successes (Spring Awakening, Once on this Island, and his well-deserved Tony winning direction for both Parade and Maybe Happy Ending). Arden didn’t stop being talented here, but there’s only so much a director can do with a project as wrong-headed as this one. He has assembled a crackerjack design team (scenic and video design by Dane Laffrey, costumes by Christian Cowan, lighting by the ever-reliable Natasha Katz and sound design by Peter Hylenski), all of whom do excellent work. But in service of what? There are vague attempts in act two by librettist Lindsey Ferrentino to connect the current political climate with that of the Siegel’s era, but it’s too little too late. She also asks us to embrace a framing device utilizing the actual Versailles in various time periods, but it confuses more than it clarifies. The cast is uniformly excellent, with genuine support provided by Nina White and Tatum Grace Hopkins. But it’s hard to watch gifted actors such as Isabel Keating, Stephen DeRosa and Greg Hildreth wasted to the extent they are here. They all deserved so much better. As did Chenoweth. As did we all.
