Foote in the Door tackles con game musical with mixed results
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels was a thoroughly delightful film released in 1988, starring Steve Martin and Michael Caine. It was a throwback to the Hollywood of the ‘30s and ‘40s with goofy but marvelous performances and a clever plot.
In short, it was a property just calling out to be a musical.
The result was a hit on Broadway in 2004 but never one of the great ones. It does, however, make for a moderately entertaining example of escapist entertainment from Foote in the Door Productions, the Edmonton amateur collective mostly made up of graduates from various Edmonton training schools. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, the Musical plays until Nov. 10 at La Cite Francophone.
The plot centres on two con men working the French Riviera. There’s the suave and sophisticated Lawrence Jameson (Russ Farmer) who passes himself off as an impecunious Prince who makes a lavish living by seducing and fleecing rich ladies. Observes one breathless victim, “I didn’t believe he was a Prince until he showed me his sceptre!”
Jameson has an “accommodating” relationship with the local chief of police (Zack Siezmagraff).
Freddy Benson (Trevor J.) is a coarse, small-time scam artist who ekes out a living swindling marks with heartrending tales of his ailing grandma. Jameson whimsically takes the boob under his wing to teach him the tricks of the trade. When Christine Colgate (Ruth Wong-Miller), a lovely but klutzy American heiress shows up – the battle is on to see just who can bed and bamboozle her.
In one scam, Freddy, posing as a war veteran with no feeling in the lower part of his body, is tortured by his erstwhile mentor posing as a shrink and, supposedly, attempting to restore feeling to his legs with a feather and then moving on to a rather stout stick.
If David Yazbec’s music and lyrics seem familiar – they are. He has musically cherry-picked Oklahoma!, The Producers, Hairspray and many other better productions. His pastiche of generic melodies may not be memorable, but they are accessible and tuneful. The lyrics are of the old Crosby and Hope one-upmanship variety and are chock full of jokes ranging from inspired to terrible. And anyone who can rhyme “Oklahoma” with “melanoma” deserves mention.
Lawrence: “Freddy, what I am trying to say is: Know your limitations.”
Freddy: “Which are?”
Lawrence: “You’re a moron.”
Jeffrey Lane’s book is bawdy fun throughout.
“Her people are in oil! Crude? Well, she’s a bit pushy.”
Speaking of Oklahoma!, Jolene (Shannon Hunt) is an early mark, a spitfire in Rita Hayworth red curly locks with a Marilyn Monroe sexy squeak, a Best Little Whorehouse in Texas-Southern accent and a voice that could rattle crockery. Alas, she’s gone too soon in the First Act.
Also shaking up the Riviera is Muriel Eubanks (Melanie Lafleur), a model of commanding show business smarts and a voice made for musical theatre.
Wong-Miller is a vivacious presence and, quite, possibly, the best thing in the production. The ever-so-elegant Farmer fights some intonation problems but seems every inch the sophisticated high-class con man the script demands. Trevor J. manages to be rough-hewn and oafish yet vaguely endearing at the same time. Siezmagraff is good as the corrupt policeman and, along with Lafleur, provides some finely-tuned comic turns.
Director Carolyn Waye works well with her leads but runs aground with her not-quite-ready-for-prime-time ensemble.
