After pumping E100,000 into the production, not bad for a recessionary show, Wexford Light Opera Society took a huge risk with The Witches of Eastwick, which paid off both financially and critically, with multiple standing ovations at Wexford Opera House, and a mutual love-in between audience and cast at the finale after a week-long run.
The musical is based primarily on the film adaptation and not the original source, John Updike’s novel, naturally enough, because otherwise George Lawlor’s Darryl Van Horne would have skipped town with his male lover, the brother of Jennifer, whom the three witches actually kill, and not Felicia Gabriel.
But when Hollywood came a calling, and with Jack Nicholson in tow, Updike’s story was sanitised: the witches inadvertently dispose of Gabriel, and Nicholson has eyes only for them.
The musical reintroduced the character of Jenny who, unlike the novel, survives the culling. Whatever, you might say, and you’d be right: the plot is entirely incidental to the machinations of the production, which is big on over wrought numbers like Make Him Mine and Dirty Laundry, the leitmotifs of which are reprised whenever the vacuous storyline stumbles, which is often.
The history of this musical is one of mixed success on the international stage, with scenes cut or added and songs excised, but Wexford Light Opera Society managed to overcome a rather skimpy set starved of depth, but not the odd blast of stage mist, with a show-saving elevation of the witches (a superb always-ripe-for-adventure trio of Sharon Clancy, Naoimh Penston and Siobhan Meyler-Fawsitt) flying and flapping about like Mary Jane in Spider Man.
The one dimensional aspect of Darryl Van Horne, with the seductive appeal of a plunger, as written, didn’t allow George Lawlor to add much depth from his vast repertoire to the role, and in appearance and persona he was a mix of Ali G and Pepe Le Pew. Van Horne’s demise should be with a bang, but oddly felt like a whimper.
For pure acting, and leaving Sharon Clancy aside, Catherine Walsh again was in a league of her own, in the one role that had a bit of sturm und drang, and it will be an injustice if she goes unrewarded by AIMS.
The history of The Witches of Eastwick, the musical, suggests a necessary addition of the bombastic to succeed, and Wexford, with the superb choreography overlapping the direction, though not drowning it, was both loud in volume and loud in colour, and as such got the seal of approval from its devotees.
On the page it is ambitious in scale, but the Light Opera Society had the versatility, both on stage and off, to carry it off. If you were raised in a monastery, or born before the war, some of the scenes might appear risqué.
The Witches of Eastwick, peppered with unnecessary profanities, is light years away from the harmless and charming staple diet of the late Des Corish and Fr. Johnny O’Brien, veterans of the Society for over 50 years, and who were affectionately remembered from the stage 0n Saturday.
What they would have made of the f**** in the libretto, which drew the loudest guffaw from the audience, is anybody’s guess. Wexford Festival Opera should take note.
What next?
To be, or not to f****** be?
That is the f****** question
