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music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, lyrics by Jim Steinman, book by Patricia Knop, Gale Edwards and Andrew Lloyd Webber, directed by Bill Kenwright

Mirvish Productions, Princess of Wales Theatre, Toronto

January 3-6, 2008

In 1996 Whistle Down the Wind became one of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s biggest post-Phantom flops.  Reviews of the out-of-town tryout were so negative the show never made it to Broadway.  To start the New Year Mirvish is presenting the work’s Canadian premiere in a staging revised, produced and directed by Bill Kenwright as part of its first-ever North American tour.  In this situation one always hopes that the critics of a decade ago were wrong and that a misunderstood piece has now been revealed as a hidden gem.  Sadly that is not the case.  The plot comes across as ludicrous, the music and lyrics uninspired and the direction dull.

Based on the 1961 British film of the same name the three authors of the book have pointlessly transposed the action from England to a small town in Louisiana.  Three children—15-year-old Swallow (Justine Magnusson), her younger sister Brat (Nadine Jacobson) and little brother Poor Baby (Austin J. Zambito-Valente)—are approaching their first Christmas since the death of their mother.  When an escaped prisoner called only “The Man” (Eric Kunze) finds refuge in their barn and swears in answer to a question, the three automatically assume that he is Jesus Christ come again.  We are supposed to feel uplifted by the naive faith of the children but the storytelling and dialogue are so badly mismanaged that what’s meant as a charming allegory becomes at first unintentionally funny and finally thoroughly unbelievable.  Swallow’s unswerving faith in the obviously basely mortal “Man” seems at best as delusional, at worst incredibly stupid.  Meanwhile, the townspeople led by the evil, black-hatted Sheriff (Kurt Zischke) hunt down the criminal and telegraph their prejudices to the audience. 

Sometimes music can redeem a silly story, but here Lloyd Webber seems content wanly to plagiarize himself and lyricist Jim Steinman pens one ridiculous line after the next (“A Kiss is a Terrible Thing to Waste”).  The fact that the best-known song “No Matter What” was a big hit for the boy band Boyzone is a clue to the mind-numbing insipidity of the entire show.  Both leads have fine singing voices but Magnusson’s over-earnest delivery soon becomes tiresome and Kunze does not have the glowing charisma to make the story plausible.  Kenwright’s direction is stodgy and often makes no sense of the characters.  Why does the distraught father of the children never appear distraught?  Henry Metcalfe’s choreography is rudimentary.  The best element is Paul Farnsworth’s sets although his rolling fields of grain look more like the Midwest than the Deep South.  The show can be recommended only to worshippers of Baron Lloyd Webber or lovers of lost causes.

©Christopher Hoile

Note: A version of this review appeared in Eye Weekly 2008-01-04.

Photo: Eric Kunze as “The Man” with children. ©Joan Marcus.