Once, The Musical

Or: Eurydice in Bloom

Orpheus in Dublin. A young man (Jake Slater) stands on a street corner playing a guitar, his voice and veins filled with a pickled love, once bright and lush and now nothing but sour. He finishes his song, sets his guitar in its case, and prepares to walk away from it, to a life of fear and loneliness. Then a voice calls out, a Czech immigrant (Kelsey Brown), caught by the threads of his last song. In five days she will have drawn him on a mad adventure, and we, under the aegis of an achingly talented ensemble and splendidly constructed story, watch as together they construct something truly beautiful.

Placed like a jewel in the warm and well-lit interior of a Dublin Music shop, Victoria Bussert’s production starts flying from the first footfall. We are welcomed into the space by a shining ensemble each with an instrument and a gorgeous voice. They stamp, clap, strum, and sing, warming the air and the heart. The musical’s finest moments are when our hero, prodded by our heroine, begins to play (in a pub, a shop, a bank’s office) the whole world tunes to him and is inspired to leap up and play along. And what leaps! A swell of music and movement that blends together and fountains in a perfectly articulated display of grace, of kicked up heels, tight pirouettes, and radically sensuous bowing. Either in rippling echo of the duo’s creations or in heavenly acapella, the sound of Once is never a drop out of place, channeling right where it ought to be.

But even were it naught as blessed as it is by good hands and keen minds, Once is one of those rare shows that’ll stand up to most everything. Created by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, and with an absolutely sterling book Edna Walsh, the musical is tight, intricate, unflagging, and funny. O what wonderful laughs there are, sprinkled liberally throughout the company from Czech’s learning English from soap-operas to the most Irish expression of the nature of love. Even the wildest moments and far-flung jokes all find support and soft landings before the play has run its course. Sadly, lacking a program, I cannot in good conscious enumerate the achievements of the Crispin Whatswhiskers and Eva Novakovas of the cast (laurels flung to Warren Egypt Franklin, well known and lauded, for his versatility on drums). It’s a show that takes care of its cast, for all the demands it makes of them. And it all thrives on the resounding note running through the show: the will-they- wo n’t-they vibe between our heroes, the most delectable frisson imaginable.

And what of our leads? Slater’s voice is like the light of a spring morning sliding over the city, bright and gentle and pervasive, with the occasional luminescent flash from a window or a water-tower or a high note. As a musician he stands there, thawing by degrees from the busker we first met to a vulnerable young man of courage. But still, there’s heartbreak, for what has been lost and what must yet be yielded, and Slater can let his character's anguish, too great for his chest, lie ridged in every muscle and tremble upon his face, like a brim-filled cup. Brown meanwhile, nails absolutely her characters peculiar blend of practical whimsy. With an earnest quirk in her mouth and side long glance, she proposes the most grandiose scenes with utmost seriousness (“I’m always serious. I’m Czech.”) Joke after joke flies straight and true while Brown still gives us the picture of a young woman who believes in the world, and cares for the scars and tender places of her heart. As for her voice, it is river valley soil: rich, fine, soft and dark, meandering and strong, from which only good things can grow.

Once is a musical about broken hearts mending; and like with bones, it is sometimes necessary to break hearts again to mend them. The masterfully choreographed sound from the stage was echoed by a shadow orchestra of sniffles, sobs, sighs and blissful exhalations from the audience. One feels ill with happiness, strangled with emotion, positively verklempt. Partially it’s our busker’s beautiful music, indomitable, ‘unexpectable’ Ireland plucking at the harp of heartstrings, partially its the delicate sweetness of two souls in love but unable to quite bridge the gap, and light the filament, between them. But most of all, I feel that it is a kind of reverse tragedy. We begin with Orpheus in Dublin, a great musician lost in a hell of his own making: a life of fear, corse and mean. But it is a Eurydice who finds him, who leads him out, by music, back into the real world. She gives him his life back and shows him how to turn his talents to good. And whatever else may happen that is a gift which every blessed member of the ensemble and every happy member of the audience can enjoy. You walk out of the theater feeling warmed, alive, cleaned, and touched; with a sense of gratitude and goodwill to all. And isn’t that something worth seeking out?