From having seen more than half of Long Beach Playhouse’s 13 prior stagings of A Christmas Carol, I would have been comfortable in advance of this year’s iteration predicting that you would see a faithful rendering of the Charles Dickens classic, with an entertaining Scrooge and a solid supporting cast.
What I couldn’t have promised — especially if I knew this year’s would be an unadorned, completely traditionalist take — is that it would be something fresh, let alone a nearly flawless demonstration of the theatrical arts.
Rather than open with Dickens, director Carole Louise Nicholson begins the proceedings with an a cappella “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”, the first of a handful of effective mood-setters we get throughout the play from a spectral troika tasked with delivering Dickens’s narrative voice and serving as a sort of Greek chorus / witness / facilitator. Christine Carver, Ren Warzecha, and Andrew Yonce are a perfect vocally/visually/kinetic unit, aiding not only the forward momentum but also the overall emotional tone.
I’m loath to single out any actor for individual praise for the simple reason that literally every member of this ensemble is not only perfectly cast but set up for success by the thoughtful and nuanced attention Nicholson has given to every moment and interaction. You’ll never catch an actor simply standing by while another delivers her lines; each character is fully inhabited and living every moment.
But of course something must be said of Scrooge. Although Gregory Cohen’s take is stylized (I don’t know how you don’t stylize a guy who goes around saying, “Bah! Humbug!”), at no time do we not experience Scrooge as real flesh and blood, a unique, idiosyncratic human. That alone would be sufficient for a good — in Cohen’s case, very good — performance. But Cohen goes further, peeling back the stylization after Scrooge’s post-ghost transformation, then stripping it entirely when he visits his nephew Fred on Christmas Day, abashed and remorseful and hoping against hope that it’s not too late to salvage their relationship in the time that’s left to them. A profoundly beautiful, touching moment.
Sidenote: Of all the major characters, Andy Justus’s Fred is the most fully stylized, all flourish and elocution, which Justus delivers with charming aplomb. Counterintuitively, unlike Cohen, Justus does not fully drop the stylization in their pivotal moment together but merely mutes it, which somehow only highlights the humanity of their exchange. It’s yet one more example of Nicholson’s studious exploitation of the resources at her disposal.
The production’s crowning achievement is its flow. It’s one thing to maintain the overall momentum and find ways of effecting scene changes without straining our suspension of disbelief. It’s quite another, however, to craft a piece of theatre whose every second is subsumed into a continuous flow — especially when we’re talking about a work that is primarily textual and not sensorial. This is by no means necessary for a great production, but it’s really something to see on those extremely rare occasions when you find it. This has nothing to do with barreling ahead full-tilt, nor with eschewing changes of pace; instead, it’s letting each moment play out organically, and for those moments to succeed each other in such a way that the scene happening in front of you now seems to have naturally sprouted from the one it replaced.
I am informed that this is Nicholson’s first time in the director’s chair. I can scarcely believe it, because this is quite simply one of the best-directed works of theatre I’ve seen. Sure, a production this bare-bones, and with such tried-and-true source material, in some ways will not be amongst the most complicated of shows to helm. But all that matters is the end product, how well a given script is realized on stage. For this A Christmas Carol, it would be impossible for me to fully recount all the little choices that are so smart they had me nodding in appreciation. The very conscious turn of a head to sell a joke. Blocking the breakup of young Scrooge (Justus) and his betrothed (Alexandra Young) so that her eyeline meets old Scrooge’s as he looks on in helpless horror. The strange sound the young boy (Dash Gomer) makes when he brings Scrooge the big turkey. As always, there’s the big dance scene at Fezziwig’s (uncredited, but I think it’s J.D. Rinde, who navigates Jacob Marley while avoiding the caricature that is a natural hazard of that role) in Scrooge’s Christmas past. This year’s version might be the longest I’ve seen, but it’s also the best, played not as a dance staged for us but for themselves, the participants, fully alive in the festive communal moment. And the simple addition of a tambourine (handled by either Gomer or Nathaniel Toral, both of whom are just as perfect in their multiple roles as any of their older castmates), beating out four minutes of quarter notes to complement the piped-in music, helps immerse us in the world we’re watching.
Nicholson deserves many more chances to show what she can do. And my Christmas wish for this talented cast is that they will be so lucky as to have other opportunities with directors who are committed and capable enough to enable them to both sparkle this brightly as individuals and have their light so perfectly blended with the whole.
Opening night was so good that in Act Two I became slightly nervous, the way you do when a pitcher on your favorite team takes a no-hitter into the seventh inning. Even if they’re up 11-0, the bar is now set higher than mere victory. But even the audience was almost perfect (a Christmas miracle these days), with never more than a cough here or there to gum up the flow. After intermission, fearing I might be overlooking small shortcomings in light of how obviously great the show was overall, I couldn’t help but actively seek out imperfections. The only one I found was a scene in which more dynamic blocking could have helped with audience sightlines (though the stasis was appropriate to the dramatic action of the moment) — something that stood out only because of how perfectly placed the actors were not just in every other scene but in every moment within each scene.
The mise en scène is [I’m getting sick of using this word, but] perfect. Even without the striking vision of the above-mentioned troika (additional kudos to Milo Cote’s makeup there and on Marley), Jennifer Lidikay & Christina Bayer’s costumes would be carrying a lot of visual weight in what is perhaps the most minimalist A Christmas Carol in the Playhouse’s history. And understated as it is, Miranda Richard’s lighting never fails to perfectly [ack!] enhance the flow. There’s an especially nice moment when the entire stage goes blue. It’s hard to say why this works so well, but it’s more than just looking nice. I suppose it’s just part of the magic when every single element falls perfectly [whaddya want from me?!] into place.
Although I am often offered a +1 when I come out to review a show, I’m generally just as happy seeing a play alone as with good company. But I invited a friend to this one, who turned me down with the explanation that he’s not particularly “into” Christmas. How strange to categorize A Christmas Carol as if it is nothing but a Christmas thing, as if it can’t possibly be viewed foremostly as a great piece of writing or a chance to enjoy a group of people endeavoring to conjure great art right in front of your eyes. I’m sorry he missed out.
Not to say that A Christmas Carol isn’t also a Christmas thing, but of course Christmas isn’t inherently any one thing. Like Fred, I find it — and A Christmas Carol itself — a reminder to be “kind, forgiving, charitable, […] to open [our] shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below [us] as if they really were fellow–passengers to the grave and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.”
I cannot think of a more transcendent sentiment, and I couldn’t have wished for a better package for this annual gift than the one Long Beach Playhouse has put together this year. If there is any way you possibly can, see this show.
A Christmas Carol at Long Beach Playhouse
Times: Thurs–Sat 8:00 p.m., Sun 2:00 p.m.
The show runs through Dec. 21.
Cost: $20 to $32 (plus $3–$4 service fee if ordering online)
Details: (562) 494-1014; LBplayhouse.org
Venue: Long Beach Playhouse, 5021 E. Anaheim St., Long Beach