It doesn't come with the flashy effects of musical-theatre imports, but if director Vivian Coates has anything to do with it, a new Irish production of ' Fiddler on the Roof'will pack plenty of oomph, writes ARMINTA WALLACE
IT’S A LONG way from the West End – or maybe not. On a sunny Sunday afternoon on Dublin’s Haddington Road, people are filing into St Mary’s Holy Faith Secondary School bearing the familiar paraphernalia of musical theatre: sports bags and bottles of water. A child aged about nine, wearing a hat in the shape of a bear or maybe a leopard, bounces from the stage to the floor, playing a chasing game with three equally energetic companions. A teenager in turquoise T-shirt and Justin Bieber haircut is sitting on a wooden step texting expertly with his thumb. A vaguely familiar-looking man with white hair crosses the room, sits at the piano and produces some jaunty jazz, then joins his friends for a chat.
This is a full-on, chorus-plus-principals rehearsal for a major Irish musical theatre production. In these tricky theatrical times it's not easy to compete with the kind of mammoth musicals that arrive on our doorstep draped in special effects ranging from a 30ft tarantula ( The Lord of the Rings) through a crashing chandelier ( The Phantom of the Opera) to a helicopter landing on stage ( Miss Saigon). But Vivian Coates, the director and designer of a new staging of Fiddler on the Roof, from Jim Molloy Promotions, is going to give it a full-throated try. This musical, he insists, isn't about flashy special effects – it's about good old-fashioned theatrical values.
“It’s a great ensemble show,” he says. “That’s the trick with Fiddler. The stage has to become a village. The cast has to become a family and a community. The humour also has to come across. People think of it as a sad show, but humour pervades the entire script.”
At the height of the action Coates will be choreographing more than 60 people on stage, which, when you think about it, is four rugby teams all dashing around at once in a space much, much smaller than a rugby pitch.
He claps his hands and they’re off, into the dream sequence, which sees the central character, Tevye the Jewish milkman (Tony Finnegan), and his wife (Ellen McElroy) visited in their bed by a swirling, hissing host of demons. Next comes the wedding of their daughter Tzeitel (Lucy O’Byrne), performed by the jazz pianist mentioned above, playing the village rabbi. The reason he looks vaguely familiar is because he’s the veteran actor Des Manahan.
Meanwhile, a young man with a lavish head of blond curls has sprung on to a stool, fiddle in hand. He is Vladimir Jablokov, the Slovakian musician who can play anything from speed-of-light Mozart to David Bowie's Life on Mars, and he oozes charisma with every note.
In this company, however, he'll get a run for his money in the charisma stakes. The cast is bookended by 83-year-old Veronica Dunne, as Grandma Tzeitel, and 19-year-old Katie Honan as Chava. The tiny, vivacious Honan was one of 20 finalists out of 9,000 wannabes who auditioned for Andrew Lloyd Webber's reality show Over the Rainbowon BBC1 last year. An advanced drama student at Bull Alley Theatre Training Company in Dublin, she is on the cusp of what looks set to be a highly successful career in Irish and international musical theatre.
Dunne, universally known simply as “Ronnie”, is a famous figure in Irish opera circles. Her career also got a boost from a competition, when she won the Concorso Lirico Milano in 1952. If she was at this rehearsal, she could tell the story of how she dashed from a gig in Sligo to get to Milan in time for the final – in the days before budget airlines and online check-ins. But Ronnie isn’t here. A free pass being given to an elderly lady on a weekend afternoon? Yeah, right. In fact, she has jetted off to a prior engagement at an opera house somewhere on the European mainland, where one of her students is singing the lead role in Rossini’s La Cenerentola. Still flying at 83.
As well as the charismatic cast, there’s the charm of the Fiddler score itself. Not for nothing is Fiddler one of the most popular musicals, one of the longest-running Broadway shows in history, winner of nine Tony awards and all the rest of it.
“Okay, let’s have that again,” cries Coates, urging his chorus to shift and move and add to the action. “Be a little bit ahead of yourself in terms of what’s coming next.”
In fairness, the chorus members have been transfixed by three young men who are dancing with bottles on their heads – not something you see every day, even on Haddington Road. “Oy vey,” someone somewhere to my right sighs, prompting a ripple of laughter so genuine it can hardly – surely? – be part of the script.
Meanwhile, back at the wedding, vigorous peasant dancing has progressed to vigorous peasant dust-up. Peace has scarcely been restored among the guests when the boy in the turquoise T-shirt – who is obviously not Justin Bieber at all, but some kind of anti-semitic Tsarist thug – starts overturning tables and chairs, and generally wrecking the joint.
At the piano, music director Aidan Faughey’s hands are moving faster and faster as he recreates the sound of an orchestral accompaniment to mayhem. When Coates calls for a brief pause, Faughey executes a serene series of chorale-type chords and smiles wryly. “You have to play a bit of Handel every now and again to calm you down,” he explains.
Coates, however, is still cross with his chorus. Seventeen years at the helm of Lyric Opera have taught him a thing or two about making the most of your resources – and the chorus members, clearly, aren’t making the most of theirs. He has the cast repeat the wedding scene several times until they deliver the desired amount of oomph.
I’d be willing to bet that by opening night, they’ll be moving so fast they’ll giving the Large Hadron Collider a run for its money. Is Coates bossier than Andrew Lloyd Webber, I ask Honan during the coffee break.
“No,” she says. “Well, actually” – her eyes dance with mischief – “yes.”
Fiddler on the Roofis at the Gaiety Theatre for three weeks from Wednesday
