‘Noir’ smartly brings film noir to the stage
Even when down on their luck, songwriters are storytellers. Maybe especially when they are down on their luck. That’s worth bearing in mind during the many twists and turns of the highly enjoyable new musical “Noir,” onstage at the Alley Theatre through July 3.
Written by Kyle Jarrow (“The Spongebob Musical”) and Duncan Sheik (“Spring Awakening”), “Noir” functions as both homage and light spoof of the double-crossing genre known for “Double Indemnity” and other gritty Turner Classic Movies nuggets. (In the playbill, director Darko Tresjnak helpfully provides a noir starter kit of 10 films, including “The Hitch-Hiker,” “Vertigo” and “The Grifters.”)
The creators understand that classic noir is built more on pulpy types than finely drawn characters, and so we meet The Neighbor, who has been holed up in a seedy LA apartment for months, stewing in heartbreak. As the neon “No Vacancy” sign buzzes at stage left, we learn he’s been scraping by on royalties from “Black and Blue,” a hit song he had a couple of years back; “a minor hit,” he acknowledges. Later, The Kid, The Lover, The Boss and The Goon enter the picture.
The only one with a proper name is Scarlet, the mysterious chanteuse who inhabits the murky netherworld between femme fatale and damsel in distress. Scarlet left The Neighbor some time ago, even though “Noir” opens with her, clad in lingerie, sleeping on his bed. She’s a memory, a lingering reminder of an affair that was doomed from the start, and only begins interacting with him on “The Spy in the Shadows,” a dusky cabaret duet that highlights actress Christy Altomare’s sturdy pipes as much as it does The Neighbor’s isolation.
As The Neighbor, Adam Kantor has an appealing Everyman quality but also a savviness that elevates his character beyond the patsy that most nice characters in noirs get taken for. Besides Scarlet, the only other person he interacts with at first is The Kid (Sinclair Daniel), who cajoles nips of whiskey and keeps raising her grocery delivery rates. Wheels start to turn when a young couple literally slides into the apartment next door, a highlight of Alexander Dodge’s clever scenic design.
Another is the full nightclub stage, complete with sparkly curtains, that emerges when the apartments slide away. Most of Sheik’s songs are cut from a certain cloth that allows Altomare to indulge her inner Shirley Bassey, but not all of them: “Push On” rides a sleek Kraftwerk-meets-synth-pop groove, and “Getaway” is a full-on power ballad built for Pat Benatar in her prime. The pick of the litter is probably “Black and Blue,” a Ben Folds-y bit of lost radio candy that ranks right up there with Sheik’s 1996 “Barely Breathing.”
Anyway, once The Husband and The Wife (David Guzman and Morgan Marcell) move in, The Neighbor quickly comes to enjoy eavesdropping on them as much as he does mooning over Scarlet. They’re young and on the run, but they sure can dance, especially Marcell; kudos to Karla Puno Garcia’s lithe and supple choreography. Not to be outdone is the smirking, gangster-ish Clifton Samuels as The Boss: His scenestealing “The Sun Shines Brighter in LA” combines Busby Berkley razzle-dazzle with the fight choreography of Looney Tunes.
TV is not a thing in this world, but everyone is so addicted to “True Crime Radio Hour” they might as well be living in the program, too. Eventually, there’s a gunshot, then a body, and that’s when the Japanese puzzle box of a plot kicks into high gear. Secrets are revealed, identities switched and rugs pulled out. But for all its dancing shadows and lurid red light, “Noir” lacks a certain bitterness and cynicism that distinguishes true noir; it’s not quite nihilistic enough. Rare is the classic noir character who will say something like “you deserve to be happy.”
This is ultimately a minor flaw, though, due to the high degree of talent here (both onstage and backstage) and the musical’s overall stylishness. Plus, “Noir” has the audacity to argue that even in this darkest of genres, it just might be possible to still have a happily ever after … sort of.