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By now,
more than thirty years after the original
production of Stephen Sondheim’s Company,
entire dissertations have been written on
the cipher which is Bobby, the protagonist
at the center of Sondheim’s examination of
urban relationships. Is he or isn’t he (sssh
– gay)– or is he actually neutered?
In his most current incarnation, as played
by the extremely talented Raul Esparza,
Bobby appears to be suffering from something
similar to what the character Larry says
about his wife Joanne, “a conceited woman
with no self-esteem.” Bobby is obviously
physically attractive, as well as
emotionally attuned to his friends’ needs,
and yet he often appears as uncomfortable in
his own skin as his friend Amy who believes
she’s not worthy of marriage.
Then again, given the sour depiction of the
institution of marriage in George Furth’s
book, it’s not likely anyone would happily
walk down the aisle. Written at the end of
the Sixties, and first produced in 1970,
Company chronicles the type of marriages
dissected in the narrative worlds of the
three Johns: Cheever, Updike and O’Hara. And
the current production would be considerably
improved were the context of these
restrictive marriages realized more
completely. It would be useful to be
reminded of how few doors were open to women
married before the age of feminism—as well
as, for that matter, how the mere mention of
the word homosexual could clear a room. In a
film such as Todd Haynes’ Far From Heaven,
the plight of women and homosexuals during
the Fifties in America was made clear by the
brilliant art and set direction. Here, at
the Barrymore, we get men and women
outfitted in various shades of black, posing
on Lucite furniture—which does little to
reveal era, and, therefore, distances us
from mustering up any empathy for characters
who come across as shallow and whiny.
Fortunately, there is Sondheim’s music.
Music and lyrics by Sondheim, both of which
are brought front and center by the director
John Doyle’s conceit of having the actors
play all the instruments. Admittedly, this
idea worked better for Sweeney Todd, where
there is a far more propulsive narrative—and
in fact, there are times during this
production when the parading of instruments
and musicians proves dangerously
distracting.
Without a doubt, Raul Esparza has a
beautiful voice which does wonders with
“Being Alive,” and Heather Laws rips into
“Getting Married Today” with a manic
ferocity designed to insure that hers is the
version best remembered for years to come.
But at its best, this production most
resembles a concert version of Company,
something one might have expected to see at
Lincoln Center or the Kennedy Center—or on
PBS during a pledge drive.
As for the question of whether Bobby is or
isn’t (gay), it might do well to remember
that Company was first produced barely a
year after Stonewall, arguably the birth of
gay liberation. So it’s not surprising that
Bobby remains locked in the closet—even as
he yearns for “someone to need you too much,
someone to crowd you with love.” That much
remains the same, what E.M. Forster meant
when he wrote, “Only connect! That was the
whole of her sermon,”—and for those of us in
the audience for this production, we might
wish only that those connections were
stronger.
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