Feeling the Weight of Dickens’ Tale in Broadway’s Musical Adaptation

For most, the first time reading Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities is memorable. It is slow and laborious at first, with overwhelming and long-winded descriptions, until suddenly all of the intricate pieces weave seamlessly together, and boom- there is magic.

And while this journey from boredom to enchantment is a ninth-grade rite of passage, the associated theater-going experience is one of relatively little weight. Based upon the captivating story of revolution, love, and self-sacrifice, the Broadway adaptation, with book, music, and lyrics by Jill Santoriello, is inevitably enjoyable, yet marked by the disappointment of unfulfilled potential.

Perhaps this is because in Santoriello’s attempt to fuse a monster literary text with a musical’s dynamic, the latter is compromised. The effect of delving into a storybook is definitely achieved—Tony Walton’s scaffolding-like set whips around like fluttering pages, and the effects of snow and full moons establish a feeling of fairy-tale. The show even opens with the intriguing creation of a title page, “A Tale of Two Cities,” projected onto a wall of mysterious fog, welcoming the viewer to voyage to a different time and place.

Yet this parallel world quickly loses its thrill once it settles in to a monotonous and dreary tone. Richard Pilbrow’s melancholy lighting and Santoriello’s subdued dialogue do little to illustrate the class tension that is thematically central to the novel. “The worst of times” was certainly understood, yet the “the best of times” was much more difficult to discern. The scenes with the noble Evremond are sober and lackluster instead of disgustingly extravagant, offering little contrast to the peasants gathering spilt food from the streets. Even the wedding of Lucie Manette and Charles Darnay is a bit of a buzz-kill.

Unfortunately, the musical score only adds to this stasis. With a story that affords opportunity for a variety of songs—cries of desperation, impassioned chants of rebellion, and ballads of both requited and unrequited love—the songs are indistinguishable from each other, the lyrics labored and the melodies hardly memorable. It is difficult to picture anyone rushing to buy the soundtrack at the final curtain.

Considering their limited resources, the majority of Tale cast members were successful in creating engaging characters. Most notably, James Barbour stood out in the role of the pathetic yet lovable Sydney Carton. Because of his acting, the second half moves quickly and an emotional poignancy is achieved at the end.

One could argue that in order to attain a classic musical bravado, Dickens original characters and plot would have to be sacrificed. But while song and dance numbers vis-à-vis Chicago would have been inappropriate, the musical ended leaving that craving for theatrical excitement unsatisfied.