Chess Mark III opened in
On stage the band played loudly but the cast’s microphones were even louder, the staging was as slick and stylish as hair gel, at least two of the cast were quite excellent and the chorus and dance work was outstanding.
And while the score may not have been “the finest rock score ever produced for the theatre” (as Time magazine hailed it) it was constantly pleasing to the mind’s ear.
Alas, there’s still something wrong with the book.
Lyricist Tim Rice was first turned on by Chess during the Fisher/Spassky duel of 1972.
Man against man, ideology against ideology, to which he’s added mate against mate.
By 1984, Rice had involved the male part of ABBA to write the music, and the
late Michael Bennett t stage his show in
It ran for three years but was acknowledged as imperfect by both Rice and
director Trevor Nunn – who was given a free hand to improve
Chess for
Unfortunately, Cold War politics were added just as Mr Gorbachev warmed things up, and Americans froze the show out in three weeks.
Hence Mark III – now in the hands of Aussie Jim Sharman who, as a lad, had
given a show called Jesus Christ
Superstarr the shape it
needed for
Between Sharman and Rice there’s been an intelligent parting back to essentials that reflects a world of glasnost (though some recent events in Eastern Europe have overtaken them) and concentrates on the motive of personal responsibility as it affects the Russian and American players, the Russian’s wife and the American’s Czech-born lover and “second”.
Unfortunately – and I feel almost guilty about complaining – this raises such expectations of psychological satisfaction that events like the instantaneous passion of Russian for American second, and the Russian’s overnight defection are aggravatingly inexplicable.
Maybe this is compounded by orchestration that goes wildly over the top of Tim Rice’s intelligent words, and by a Jodie Gillies one-track performance as what should have been the most interesting woman in any musical.
But Robbie Krupski is just so good as the disturbed Russian, Maria Mercedes so interesting as his rejected wife, and John Wood so relievingly humorous as the Russian “fixer” that I wished they were aboard a more perfect vehicle.
As the chorus transforms magically from tricky tourists exploiting and being exploited, to stunningly anonymous hotel staff and the words of songs such as Quartet and You and I played melodiously and fascinatingly with ideas. I couldn’t help wondering why the story didn’t take me just as cleanly through to its conclusion. Transcribed for ABBA World
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