‘Little Shop of Horrors’ balances fantasy and reality

What do you get when you combine “Sweeney Todd”-style musical murder

with a page out of Better Homes and Gardens? You get one of the

strangest and most wildly popular musicals of recent times, “Little

Shop of Horrors.”

Written, oddly enough, by the same songwriting team that brought

you Disney’s “The Little Mermaid,” “Little Shop” is your typical

eating-plant-takes-over-the-world rock musical. Unlike Disney’s

swimming heroine, however, this plant wants more than just one man.

The Orange County Performing Arts Center is the latest venue to

give this menacing plant a home. The production revels in all of the

campy, B-movie glory that gives this show its context, creating a

universe that is surreal enough to take the edge off of a rather

bloody script, while maintaining just the right amount of reality to

convey some of its moral themes.

This is a delicate balance for “Little Shop.” A heavy emphasis on

fantasy makes the play inaccessible, but too much reality leaves it

wallowing in absurdity.

Character interpretation is a very large part of realizing this

balance. The characters in “Little Shop” must be real enough that you

enjoy their triumphs and sympathize with their tragedies, yet they

must remain exaggerated enough that their evil deeds do not turn this

bright, comic-book musical into a Dickens novel.

Foremost among the performances is Jonathan Rayson as Seymour, the

nerdy orphan who develops a rather vicious plant. Rayson resists the

urge to overdo Seymour’s geekiness. Instead, this Seymour is

believable in his earnestness and his love for his co-worker, Audrey.

Rayson creates sympathy for his character so well the audience

does not rebel against him. Indeed, they cheer when Seymour begins to

commit murder to satisfy his plant’s insatiable hunger.

As Seymour’s beloved, Audrey, Tari Kelly is charged with the task

of playing the most overdrawn character in the show. Audrey is the

prototypical helpless ingenue, complete with perfectly coiffed blond

hair, bright and impractical costumes, and the obligatory exaggerated

New York accent.

Kelly’s musical numbers set her apart. This is where she best

conveys her varying emotions, whether it is the naivete of “Somewhere

That’s Green,” the hopefulness of “Suddenly Seymour” or the sheer

terror of “Sominex” and “Suppertime.”

Mushnik, Seymour’s boss, is played well by Darren de Paul. De Paul

is an understudy, but you would never know it. His sense of the

character’s comedy and his performance of the playfully disingenuous

number “Mushnik and Son” shine through brightly.

James Moye, who plays Orin, among other roles, is a mixed bag.

Playing at least four minor characters, Moye does a great job

flitting from role to role, sometimes having less than a minute to

transition from one character to the next.

Unfortunately, as the sadistic dentist Orin, Moye is somewhat flat

in his big song, while his spoken lines go too far toward upsetting

the balance between fantasy and reality. Where his song “Dentist!”

should be over-the-top fun, he sounds as if he is calmly explaining

the merits of his talent for inflicting pain.

Sure, we want Orin to look like plant food, but Moye’s dentist

doesn’t lean enough toward fantasy.

The story is kept moving by the “urchins” -- Chiffon (Iris

Burruss), Crystal (Badia Harha) and Ronnette (Latonya Holmes).

Ever-present, yet not quite all-knowing, the three actresses give the

show vitality and set its tone. Moving in choreographed unison yet

portraying clearly developed characters, the three add layers of both

serious meaning and comic relief to the show.

Then there is Audrey II, the singing man-eating plant. Audrey II

is a wonder, a puppet designed in four different incarnations by the

Jim Henson Company.

The first two versions are hand puppets operated by a single

person. The third is a full-body puppet, in which the manipulator

uses his arms for the mouth and his feet for the roots. The final

Audrey II is a five-ton creation operated by several puppeteers

working in unison.

Each version is successively more menacing and more human. Michael

James Leslie provides the voice of the demanding plant, giving it

emotion and personality in concert with puppeteers Anthony Asbury,

Michael Latini, Marc Petrosino and Matt Vogel. The result is a

frighteningly realistic creation with just as much life as any of the

actors.

Scott Pask’s set design is another vital part of the

fantasy/reality balance. In a style reminiscent of Tim Burton, Pask’s

dark and foreboding skid row backdrops create a sense of impending

evil, but are just off-scale enough to reassure the audience the

story is a fantasy. Completing that balance is Donald Holder’s

lighting design, which utilizes Pask’s set creations and further

solidifies the show’s balance.

Similarly, William Ivey Long’s costume designs deftly convey the

drab realities of skid row life, while allowing a few glittery

evening gowns and bright pink negligees to periodically bring back

the cartoonish quality that has endeared the show to audiences for so

long.

“Little Shop of Horrors” is not exactly fun for the whole family.

It deals with issues of domestic violence, inescapable poverty, and

the power of money to corrupt even the most innocent of people.

Like “South Park” and “The Simpsons,” it can be described as an

adult cartoon that can deliver pure enjoyment to mature audiences,

while also giving them opportunities to look beneath the surface if

they choose to do so. The music is excellent, and the performances

are just as good.

A photosynthesizing version of “Jaws,” it leaves us with the

immortal question: “Who looks like plant food to you?”