The 101 Dalmatians Musical
Dell Hall at the Long Center for the Performing Arts
Nov. 28
Has there ever been a title that doesn’t roll off the tongue like this one? Surely there have been musicals as pedestrian as this, co-written by Dennis DeYoung and B.T. McNicholl and currently on a national tour, but did any of them have a less euphonic title? Sometime, at some point, someone needs to admit that some things just shouldn’t be reconceived as musicals. And if they are, then they at least should have a catchy title. Even 101 Dalmatians: The Musical is better, but possibly the authors thought that “[Original Title]: The Musical” had been overused. Which it has.
The production, which resembles a kind of low-rent Lion King transferred to 1950s London and uses dogs instead of jungle animals, has Disney written all over it. Only you won’t find Disney’s name anywhere on it, because this musical isn’t produced by Disney or based on either of the Mouse Factory’s 101 Dalmatians films. It’s an independent production drawn from the original 1956 novel by Dodie Smith: The Hundred and One Dalmatians (another better title). I’ve never read Smith’s book, but it had to hold together better than this. In case you don’t know the story: Evil woman kidnaps puppies; brave mother and father dogs rescue them. That’s basically what you get here. It’s about that deep.
Figuring out how to embody the dogs for the production had to be the most interesting part of developing this show: Do we use real dogs? Puppet dogs? Humans dressed as dogs? Turns out, at various points, you get all three, but mostly you get humans wearing dog-like clothing, with the actors portraying human characters walking around on what appear to be high platform boots. The boots make the humans appear significantly bigger than the dogs, and while the boots work in a cartoony visual sense, most of the time the humans look, well, stilted. Some of the actors handle the boots better than others, and it’s truly amazing how well some of them dance on them, especially considering the oversized (due to the boots), gorgeous costumes they’re required to wear. But no matter how hard they try, all the people are cursed with stilt-gait, which makes them look kind of like puppets. And the dogs look kind of like, well, people wearing dog clothes.
What succeeds, despite the material and the stiltedness, are the set design, a huge variety of oversized, cartoonish drops with really big furniture, and some of the performances, especially Rachel York as Cruella de Vil. York’s Cruella is all cartoon, big mouth, big shoulders, big strange hair. Add the boots and she’s literally larger than life. York knows it, relishes it, and breathes comic fire in every scene. Erin Maguire’s upright and dedicated Nanny Cook and Joel Blum, in dual roles as the delightfully priggish Harry de Vil and an eager, clever bloodhound, also succeed because of a broad, cartoonish yet vocally precise approach to character.
But here’s the real kicker: A group of talented canines – Dalmatians, precisely, trained by Joel Slaven – appears at the end of the show, sprinting across the stage to every corner, changing the set before the delighted eyes of the audience. Try finding that in your local cineplex.
This article appears in December 4 • 2009.