OpenStage’s heartfelt production of the small-cast musical is a winner all around
Big Fish manages to convince us to root for an ego-centric narcissist who made his life into a fairytale drama. The small-cast version of the musical is based on both page and screen — Daniel Wallace’s 1998 best-selling novel Big Fish and Tim Burton’s 2003 movie (screenplay by John August) — before finally coming to the stage in 2013 with the musical book by August.
Presented in lightly reshuffled format by OpenStage Theatre & Company, Big Fish is a homey fairytale about traveling salesman father Edward Bloom (Scott Hurst). Bloom neglects his familial duties to his wife, Sandra (Brikaih Floré) and son, Will (Brian Wilcox) back home in Alabama. Edward is on the road as Will grows up, and he brings back to Will stories of a witch, a giant, a werewolf, and a town too small to hold a big fish like him. While wanting to be a hero to his son, Edward also needs to be a hero to himself. So, he spins tall tales to convince himself and others that there’s meaning and purpose to his humdrum life.
The consequences of Edward’s bullshit factory comes to a head at Will’s wedding. He asks his father to not tell jokes or any of his stories during the reception. But, in typical selfish Edward fashion, he hijacks the festivities by announcing that the bride, Josephine (Marin Stumpf), is pregnant.
Beyond all the father’s tall tales and jokes, the real passion in the Big Fish tale is Will’s story. He questions everything, deals with the fallout of his father’s antics and comes to see that he doesn’t know his father at all. He compares Edward to an iceberg, where only a small percentage of him is ever visible. As he starts his own life with Josephine and the coming baby, he wants to find out the truth about Edward Bloom.
A complex character
Hurst’s Edward Bloom has a decent man’s enthusiasm and a conman’s charm. There’s also a hint of absolute hope in the character’s fundamental good will. Hurst embraces his character and fully immerses the audience in each story he tells. It’s difficult to pick one song where he stood out more than others, but “Daffodils” comes to mind with its emotionally melodious harmonizing from both Hurst and Floré. “This River Between Us” is another good example of Hurt’s range.
Each one of Edward’s tales has its own musical number, complete with wonderfully transforming costumes by Rebecca Spafford and Racey’s tight choreography. The division between Edward and son Will weaves a thread that engages us as Bloom attempts to justify a lifetime of lousy parenting with each musical number. We quietly hope that he can mend his relationship with his son.
Wilcox’s Will is a realistic man, sometimes to a fault. What starts out as a bit of a mundane character becomes much more emotional as the story progresses. The story tugs at our emotions as his father is diagnosed with cancer, and Will struggles to understand the man before it’s too late. Wilcox shines during “Stranger” and “This River Between Us,” his voice and range made apparent to all. Racey’s choreography of “This River Between Us” is also a show highlight in the choreographed portrayal of the struggles of both father and son.
Unsurprisingly, the women are the glue in each relationship. Brikaih Floré’s Sandra loves both husband and son just as they are. Floré’s singing brings out the soul in her character, especially during “Magic in The Man” and “I Don’t Need a Roof.” With every scene, Stumpf’s eloquent Josephine shows the audience that she’s the grounded, logical person in her relationship.
Small, wonderful cast
The rest of the small cast is absolutely wonderful. Cisco Saavedra’s lively Carl the Giant brings a lot of humor to the stage, as does David Austin-Gröen’s boisterous circus ringmaster. Despite being left behind in Ashton, Bryn Frisina’s Jenny Hill manages to remain centered and resourceful. The cast is kept busy with all the rotating roles and the ingenious costumes from Spafford, such as the strong man and bearded lady in the circus and the “Little Lamb from Alabama” costumes.
Caleb Gilbert’s set is pure joy. Each of the tall tales include a background scene from a large book set upright on top of two others on stage. These three books define each scene, and the page-turning symbolism isn’t lost on us.
Speaking of glue, the beautiful score by Andrew Lippa ties all these scenes together. Victor Walters’ outstanding orchestra plays on stage behind a curtain and is truly noteworthy — particularly the piano (Victor Walters) that brings a romantic tone of great magnitude.
The audience (including myself) cheered, laughed and cried along with the characters. Big Fish is a heart-warming musical that manages to successfully play down the egotistical, neglectful and evasive father in exchange for a much more impactful message: that being a big fish is only meaningful if you end your life surrounded by the friends that you made along the way.
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