Is there anything more rejuvenating than a Rodgers & Hammerstein musical? By William Cook
From Oklahoma! to The Sound of Music, Richard Rodgers’s soaring melodies and Oscar Hammerstein’s witty lyrics are guaranteed to lift your spirits.
Yet their finest musical, South Pacific, isn’t mere escapism. Written in America during the bad old days of racial segregation, it was that rare and splendid thing – a feelgood show with something new to say. In 1949, when it premièred on Broadway, it was revolutionary. It still feels radical today.
The story is a kind of ‘42nd Street Madame Butterfly’ (as the Daily Express described it, when it came to London in 1951), about the culture clash between US servicemen and Polynesian women, set against the backdrop of America’s bloody maritime battles with Japan during the Second World War. It was based on Tales of the South Pacific by American author James A Michener, a collection of short stories inspired by his wartime service in Polynesia. Out of his Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Rodgers and Hammerstein fashioned an archetypal tale about the tug-of-war between love and duty.
The Americans have established a bridgehead on a Polynesian island, from which they plan to invade the surrounding islands, currently occupied by the Japanese. However, they can’t defeat the Japanese without some inside knowledge of these other islands, and the only man who can help them is a French plantation-owner called Emile de Becque. Emile is reluctant to risk his life because he’s betrothed to an American nurse called Nellie Forbush. But then Nellie (who comes from Arkansas, in the segregated South) discovers he already has two children, born of a Polynesian bride.
South Pacific was a critical and commercial hit on Broadway, but its bold critique of American racism was incendiary, especially in the southern states. Rodgers and Hammerstein resisted fierce pressure to tone down this aspect of the show. They rode out that storm of protest and established a new kind of musical theatre. As Kenneth Tynan observed, South Pacific was the first romantic musical with a serious adult subject. It showed that this glitzy genre could tackle controversial issues in an entertaining way.
Rodgers and Hammerstein’s genius was to parcel up this daring theme in a bright and shiny package. Most of the musical is gloriously upbeat, full of fun and laughter, and that’s what makes its progressive message so persuasive. You come out humming the songs rather than discussing the script. And what wonderful songs! Some Enchanted Evening; There Is Nothing Like a Dame; I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair…
With such a string of sure-fire hits, and such a powerful storyline, you might think it would be difficult to make a mess of South Pacific, but the clumsy 1958 movie proves that Rodgers and Hammerstein’s delicate blend of humour and pathos is actually quite a tricky balancing act.
This touring production (first performed at Chichester Festival last summer) treads that tightrope pretty well. The raucous ensemble numbers fizz and crackle with lusty athleticism; the romantic solos and duets are tender and sincere. The comic elements are rather clunky, and slow down the story, but any production of South Pacific ultimately stands or falls on its Emile and Nellie, and both these central performances are superb.
In a classic musical like South Pacific, it’s no good merely belting out the big numbers. You have to act these songs as well as sing them, and Gina Beck and Julian Ovenden both create characters of real depth. Ovenden is a suitably enigmatic Emile, while Beck’s Nellie is a complex mix of self-confidence and insecurity. You fall in and out of love with her as she falls in and out of love with Emile. The thing that makes this show so challenging is that Nellie is terribly bigoted, yet immensely endearing.
The moral subtext is clear: people can be both kind and cruel, prejudice is something we’re taught rather than something we’re born with, and it’s never too late to make amends. Yet while Nellie and Emile are reunited, the islanders are left empty-handed. As the curtain falls, Liat, the Polynesian girl who’s fallen hopelessly in love with an American marine (a lyrical performance by Sera Maehara) is left all alone onstage, abandoned and forgotten by the nation that seduced her.
It’s a beautiful, heartbreaking ending to one of the greatest musicals of any age.
