The Modern’s modern twist on ‘Man of La Mancha’ is assured and thoughtful
It may be 52 years old, but “Man of La Mancha,” the Tony Award-winning musical that tinkers with the well-known story of self-professed white knight Don Quixote, still feels new and vital. Perhaps that shouldn’t come as a surprise, since Miguel de Cervantes’ novel “Don Quixote” was itself ahead of its time, playing around with self-reflexive narrative devices years before the modernist literary movement made them commonplace.
The Modern Theater Spokane’s production of the penitentiary-bound classic opened this weekend, and it expands upon the playful, experimental styles of both Cervante’s work and playwright Dale Wasserman’s 1964 reimagining. Directors Troy Nickerson and Heather McHenry-Kroetch have transplanted “La Mancha” from 17th-century Spain to an era that looks much like the present, which turns out to be more than just a stylistic device.
Wasserman expanded “Man of La Mancha” from his teleplay “I, Don Quixote,” and it’s similar in structure and theme to Peter Weiss’ controversial play “Marat/Sade,” in which mental patients act out the work of an institutionalized Marquis de Sade. It opens as Cervantes himself (Daniel McKeever) and his manservant (Rio Alberto) have been thrown into prison, their only possessions the clothes on their backs and an in-progress manuscript of “Don Quixote.”
The other prisoners, both men and women, consider themselves the judge and jury of the jail, threatening to destroy Cervantes’ work. But he persuades them to allow him to present a defense, which involves acting out “Quixote” as a means of proving its artistic worth. Cervantes assumes the mantle of Quixote, and he then goes about assigning the other roles to his fellow inmates, leading his makeshift cast of actors through the machinations of his own batty plot.
If you already know the beats of that story, the rest of “Man of La Mancha” will seem familiar to you. Quixote, the alter ego of a deluded old man who fancies himself a knight, becomes convinced that a prostitute named Aldonza (Marlee Andrews) is his beloved Dulcinea. She’s perturbed at first, but his chivalry turns out to be an oasis in a wasteland of chauvinism.
The lines between fantasy and reality blur further, both in Cervantes’ narrative and in the jail, and the inmates begin to embody their characters so completely that it’s difficult to tell where the world of the prison ends and the details of Cervantes’ creation begin. Their identities are akin to nesting dolls: The inmates are ostensibly actors playing characters, but those characters take on even more identities in Quixote’s scrambled mind.
Cervantes is as difficult to pin down as the mythical creatures in Quixote’s fractured imagination – he famously mistakes a windmill for a giant, four-armed monster – and he’s easily the most overzealous performer in the prison. Few Broadway musicals of the era were as devoted to deliberately keeping its hero at arm’s length, but that nuanced portrait of insanity renders Cervantes’ own mental state all the more enigmatic. One of the inmates, who eventually takes on the role of a kindly priest (Brandon Michael), tidily sums up Cervantes’ disposition: He’s either a wise madman, or a mad wise man.
McKeever is the crazed engine driving this entire operation; he’s a fount of wisdom and common sense one moment and a wide-eyed madman the next. But this isn’t a hammy or desperate performance (though it easily could have been), because McKeever shows a remarkable amount of restraint in a role that requires a performance with a capital “P.” He demands our attention, but he doesn’t steal it away from his co-stars, and he has some effective emotional moments with Andrews, as Aldonza/Dulcinea, and Alberto as Quixote’s right-hand man, Sancho.
Like the narrative they accompany, the songs in “Man of La Mancha,” penned by Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion, serve less as a soundtrack than a complex patchwork of musical themes. The dialogue is often bumping up against the lyrics, and individual melodies are frequently reprised, echoing throughout the score in unexpected ways. There aren’t any weak links in Nickerson and McHenry-Kroetch’s ensemble, which makes the musical score’s intricate harmonies sound effortless.
This “La Mancha” feels fresh and contemporary, and not just because of its change in setting. The staging is clever and kinetic (credit to stage manager Becca Marsh and set designer Jeremy Whittington), and the actors are almost always in view, hovering in cells positioned behind the audience and often lounging on the steps between rows of seats. It’s a logistical decision that draws us completely into the story, and it further emphasizes what an assured and thoughtful production this is. It’s moving, but it also moves with an energetic abandon.