‘Grease’ — Revive and shine

Maggie Lawrence
Published: May 8, 2008

As unpredictable as people can be, I have one observation that I believe covers us all: no one goes to see “Grease” for the story. After all, what is the story? Nice girl meets magnetic but dangerous boy (we used to call them ‘hoods’) and finds Rydell high school culture unimpressed with her nice girl mores. So she changes and wins boy. That’s pretty much it. As thin as the spaghetti straps on an old prom dress.

What made this musical irresistible in 1972 (the longest running Broadway show until it was dethroned by “A Chorus Line”) are the same things that pack them in 36 years later through multiple revivals: the songs, the choreography, the cult of do-wop, the rambunctious humor that passes for naughty. And there’s that odd, indefinable bit of mock nostalgia that wants to believe the 50s decade was this much fun, this easily defined, and yes, this romantic. It’s still there, and we’re still eating it up.

Riverside Dinner Theatre’s newly opened production plays up the keys to “Grease’s” appeal, banking on youthful talent and pushing character types right to the edge. As in most of RDT’s shows, the emphasis on vocal quality is self-evident, but the cast’s extra versatility is put to the test with Vilma Gil’s crash dance choreography. There’s an economical quality to the dances that makes the most of strong, bold moves plugged into adolescent energy. The electrical “Shakin’ at the High School Hop” and “Born to Hand Jive” are as complex as mating rituals get — and plenty fun to watch.

Stephen Hayes, who appears as the aging hound dog deejay Vince Fontaine, directs this lark and maintains a strong, purposeful momentum. The secret is in the casting. Josh Kidd walks away with the role of Mr. Dream Lover himself, Danny Zuko. This is a no-brainer, happily paired with Cherie Wehle as Sandy Dumbrowski, official Good Girl. Their harmony is established early on with the heart-breaking sweetness of “Summer Nights” accompanied by their respective posses, the Pink Ladies and the Burger Palace Boys.

Faint sub-plots interweave themselves through the basic boy meets girl, boy doesn’t want to lose face in front of friends, boy almost loses girl —and they aren’t all poodle skirts and “I met him at the candy store.” Bad girl Betty Rizzo (Ashleigh King) makes no secret of her sex life and gets to sing the most scathingly satiric song in the show, “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee.” The bitter “There Are Worse Things I Could Do” defines her rebellious sense of honor and adds dimension to what could be just another type. Ms. King’s authority on stage and powerful pipes set her up as a formidable equal opposite to the sweet-faced, angel-voiced Dumbrowski.

Rizzo finds sometime happiness fighting with Kenickie, played with reckless joie-de-vivre by Anthony Williams. Anyone who knows “Grease” knows “Greased Lightnin’” and this anthem to the special love between a teenage boy and his first car is a real treat. Unlike the Jets and Sharks, the “Burger Palace Boys” want to feel tough but don’t really want to rumble.
John Flemming as the charmingly innocent Doody goes along and gets along, swaggering and harmless and plenty cute. (This is the same John Flemming who made us so proud at CCHS in his lead role of Tevya in last fall’s “Fiddler on the Roof”). His exceptional voice gets a chance to shine in “Those Magic Changes,” also with the hormone-fueled Roger (nice work from Matt Curtis) in “Rock ‘n Roll Party Queen.”

World’s best known beauty school dropout, Frenchy (Grace Dabney) risks being the ultimate cliche, but plays with a sweetness that gets both groups lined up on her side. Piled into Frenchy’s bedroom, Marty (Giselle McClain) and the Pink Ladies sing “Freddy, My Love”with four-chord progression dreaminess in a range that made me think of Betty Boop on helium.

Gregg Hilmar’s shining multi-level set borrows its sleek lines from the classic juke box, and Phil Carlucci’s kandy-kolored lighting keeps the mood changes focused and clear. Only in the light versions of the ‘50s do girls wear poodle skirts, and they certainly wear them here, but Joyce Smith’s costumes cover a wider, more naturalistic range in the course of the show. I missed the white sport coats that were common at ‘50s dances and would swear that elbow patches didn’t arrive until the Sixties, but I won’t fight about it.

The popularity of “Grease” goes before it like a triumphal procession, waiting only for the particulars of cast and crew to follow and prove that they’re up to the hype. The Riverside production taps into a core of talent and youthful energy that makes it rock and roll. If only the ‘50s had really been like this.

Margaret Lawrence is a member of the American Theatre Critics Association. She teaches drama at CCHS.