Through October 17, 2009
Reviewed by Andrea Braun
I
wonder how many audience members could identify Charles Starkweather and Caril
Ann Fugate before seeing Love Kills? (Without hints, such as the fact their story
inspired Badlands,
Kalifornia
and other films.) Not many, I expect, because the pair’s story of love, madness
and mayhem took place in 1958, a time that has faded into the mists, having
developed its own over-simplified mythology of conformity and contentment.
The
icons we choose to represent that time (courtesy of TV Land) are Lucy Ricardo
and Beaver Cleaver. But for some younger people who actually lived adolescence
in the 1950s, their role models were quite different and much less G-rated:
Brando, Dean, Elvis. Starkweather (Philip Leveling) incorporated elements of
the public image of all of those into his personality because he couldn’t stand
being himself. He identified especially strongly with Dean, even down to names:
Dean played Jim Stark in Rebel Without a Cause; Charlie tells Sheriff Merle
Karnopp (Zachary Allen Farmer) that “Stark” and “Starkweather” is a sign that
he and Dean are soul brothers.
Caril
Ann Fugate (Taylor Pietz) was a 13-year-old girl (unfortunately in the show,
her actual age is never mentioned) disappointed with her life already because
she’s poor and her parents are strict. She and Charlie meet in the movies where
both have gone alone to see “Rebel” (again) and passionate kisses are just a
few lyrics away. Caril (“with an ‘i’ where the ‘o’ goes”) seems to mistake a
panic attack for true love, since she can’t breathe after they kiss, but that
doesn’t stop her from wanting more and more and more. As the temperature rises
for them, the background is playing Judy’s hysterical visit to the police
office in the movie. Thus, Romeo and Juliet are muddled with Bonnie and Clyde
and a soupcon of Jim and Judy, and Charlie and Caril are the result. But unlike
Bonnie and Clyde, they don’t “rob banks,” as Bonnie says in the eponymous
movie; they kill people. And watching their story unfold through a raw punk-flavored
rock score and fine acting on the parts of all four cast members is sublime.
The “bad boy of musical theatre” is gloriously back!
Alison
Helmer is the fourth member of the ensemble as the Sheriff’s wife, Gertrude, a
motherly woman with no children of her own. She tells her husband that she
might be able to gain Caril’s trust and get her to sign a statement saying she
was forced to go on the killing spree with Charlie that eventually resulted in
a death toll of 11 and their arrest in a sleazy motel as they try to escape to
Mexico. The mere fact that they were serial killers pales beside the knowledge
that three of their victims were Caril’s parents and little sister. Charlie
shot them while Caril held his hand. Even thinking about it is horrifying, and
that is played up by the fact that big photographs of the smiling Fugates are
suspended over the set, making them silent witnesses.
And
yet, when Charlie and Caril bond with Merle and Gertrude, the young people
become weirdly sympathetic. Charlie talks about the father who beat him and he
lets Merle do the same thing. Caril tells Gertrude about Charlie asking her to
eat glass to prove her love, and Gertrude opens up about her past before she
was married to Merle. When I try to describe the actual story here, even I
think it is preposterous. But you just have to be there to get it, and I
believe you’ll find it makes twisted sense.
Pietz
is a powerhouse performer. A fine singer and actress, she makes us reach back
into our own teenage insecurities to understand her. She is hypnotized by
hormones. Remember that feeling? Charlie didn’t directly force her to collude
in his crimes; rather, her love for him—a special kind of unreasoning
passion available only to adolescents, I think—blinds her to right and
wrong. Charlie is a monster, but in Leveling’s talented hands, he is no less
evil but he is relatable. He turns his inner anger outward, and each murder
seems to represent a kind of suicide. Farmer and Helmer, both New Line veterans
shine in the roles of the parent figures; that is, the parents Charlie and
Caril should have had. And yet, I find it hard to blame the real parents to any
great extent. Charlie is aware of what he’s doing, and Caril, young though she
is, understands right and wrong.
Their
theme song is “Love Will Never Die,” and in this rendition of their story, they
believe it with all their black hearts. Their desperation to be together is
palpable and even affects their jailers to the extent that they examine their
own marriage and reach some honest conclusions. The show opens and closes with
that number and it’s performed once in between, which might be overkill, but as
it does in opera, the music brings us back to focus on the lovers rather than
the killers. The rest of the score is solid rock music that sounds (mostly) of
its period, played very well by the New Line Band, this time led by Mike
Renard, and including Dave Hall and Mike Schurk. The actors have individual
microphones, so that solves the usual sound problems that tend to plague this
auditorium.
Credit
must go to set designer Frank Bradley and lighting designer Kenneth Zinkl for
making a lot out of a little. In addition to the eerie touch of the
aforementioned portraits, the floor is spattered with red paint to resemble
blood. At one point, when Charlie and Caril are in the motel, the red spot
makes their shadows resemble large blood stains. The cell walls are slightly
askew, reminding us that things are rotten in the state of Nebraska, and that
the kids aren’t all right. Costumer Darren Hansen sprinkles blood on Charlie’s
shirt which he wears throughout like a scarlet letter. Other costumes are fine,
but between her dress, glasses, wig and makeup, Helmer looks disconcertingly
like Mrs. Doubtfire from some angles. Sound designer Matthew J. Koch does an
excellent job in his selection of contemporaneous incidental music and other
effects, right down to the crickets singing outside when all else is quiet.
Composer
Kyle Jarrow defines Love Kills as an “emo rock musical,” and in the sense that
it is highly charged and personal, that’s fair. Scott Miller directs with
passionate intensity, and it’s among the finest work I’ve seen from this
company, which is saying a lot. This isn’t the world’s best musical, but I defy
anyone to leave it without much to ponder and plenty to talk about. I hope
audiences will give it the attention it deserves.
Love
Kills
is at New Line’s space in the Washington University South Campus Theatre
through Oct. 17, 2009. Call 314-534-1111 (Metrotix) or for information, visit www.newlinetheatre.com.
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New Line Theatre