Among the many clever paintings by the deadpan “word artist” Wayne White is a work titled “Date Mate Sate Grate”—a four-word narrative that describes his bell curve of a modern relationship. I thought of this while watching the roller-coaster structure of Outre Theatre Company’s “Bed & Sofa,” an effervescent-turned-sour love triangle running now at the Broward Center.
The musical is based on a little-seen Russian silent film, also translated as “Bed & Sofa,” from 1927. Composer Polly Pen and lyricist Laurence Klavin retained the setting—1920s Moscow—from the source material, as well as the general premise, which audiences at the time found scandalous. Amid a national housing crisis, Kolya (Elvin Negron), a stonemason, lives in a stifling, sexless hovel with his obedient housewife Ludmilla (Rebeca Diaz), whose only pleasure derives from dancing to a staticky radio in between scrubbing the floors and preparing dinner. Their stasis is interrupted by the appearance of Volodya (Noah Levine), a homeless, out-of-work printer and war buddy of Kolya’s.
Kolya permits Volodya to crash on the sofa of their one-room abode, where a dressing screen provides the only semblance of privacy. When Kolya leaves on a business trip, Volodya and Ludmilla end up sharing the bed and relegating returning Kolya to the sofa—until their lustful urges acquiesce to more familiar gender paradigms. Alas, one day’s dream dish is the next day’s domestic dictator. The story loses some of its whimsical charms in its second act, but its structural rigor is steadfastly full circle and admirably feminist.
“Bed & Sofa” bills itself as a “silent movie opera,” a paradox that only makes sense once you see a production of it, and Outre’s is a solid, if not quite immaculate, interpretation. The show is entirely sung-through, with the music—expertly performed by a three-piece band just off stage left—full of operatic leitmotifs and clever reprises. It’s a Sondheimian sonic slate that’s alternately sprightly and despairing, and sometimes it’s pliable enough to encompass both of these emotions at once.
And yet “Bed & Sofa’s” silent-movie roots show, particularly in the quality of the actors, whose wide-eyed, gesture-heavy performances channel the best of silent screen acting—not the preening, ostentatious ham of a Lugosi or Valentino, but the subtler work of an Emil Jannings or George O’Brien.
Negron has a strong baritone, but his most unique asset is his expressive eyebrows, which guide the rest of his countenance down tragicomic avenues as the narrative’s hangdog cuckold. Levine is indeed possessed of the “sensitive face” which Klavin’s lyrics require, and his lanky form and rubbery face bring a gangling comic personality to Volodya. Diaz boasts the best operatic range of the three of them, and even when she’s not singing, she embodies Ludmilla’s perennial frustrations as an unpaid, unappreciated housemaid.
Skye Whitcomb’s direction required much invention, given the script’s paucity of stage direction, and in addition to his central one-room set, he employs both wings of the Abdo New River Room stage as well as the usual raised platform that sits, somewhat awkwardly, mid-audience (This staging element is only justified at the very end of the play; in the first act, it’s mostly a useless organ, like a scenic appendix). More bravely, he takes his time with the pacing, allowing his actors to do nothing for what feels like a couple of idle minutes in the first act—a rare example of savory, real-life contemplation in a musical-theater genre that generally moves at ersatz assembly-line speed.
Whitcomb’s set might leave something to be desired; certainly the anonymous furniture doesn’t say “Moscow, 1926” so much as “Fort Lauderdale Big Lots, 2015,” but I found plenty of humor in the tacky Stalin wall calendar (it’s referenced in the lyrics!) and Russian dolls that sit self-reflexively among the room’s décor. Whitcomb’s lighting decisions are even curiouser, with spotlights illuminating nothing and characters wandering among the audience in darkness. The biggest problem, though, is the sound balance, which on opening weekend was far from perfect. You may find yourself struggling to catch important exposition when the voices lose their competition with the music; Negron’s lowest notes were submerged completely under the piano and strings.
This “Bed & Sofa” has a bit of a way to go before it achieves the effortless nirvana that Pen and Klavin’s source material suggests. It’s not for nothing that the matinee audience this past Sunday sat catatonically through the production, seeming to connect very little with the emotions onstage. But it’s certainly headed the right direction, and if the aural bumpiness can be resolved, this immensely likable piece is on track to be one of Outre’s most memorable productions to date.
“Bed & Sofa” runs through Sept. 13 at Broward Center’s Abdo New River Room, 201 S.W. Fifth Ave., Broward Center. Tickets cost $30. Call 954/462-0222 or visit browardcenter.org.
