Sondheim Revival Is Right on Point

It’s been a long time coming for Sondheim enthusiasts.

Nearly 25 years after its original opening on the Great White Way, the Pulitzer-winning Sunday in the Park With George is being revived on Broadway for the first time. It was worth the wait.

Transferred from London, the acclaimed Menier Chocolate Factory production began its limited engagement at Roundabout Theatre Company’s Studio 54 on Feb. 21. The show is a feast for the eyes, ears, heart, and—unlike many of the current Broadway musical offerings—intellect. It is, in a word, unmissable.

Inspired by the painting Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte, Sunday is loosely based on the life of French artist Georges Seurat. By applying scientific theory of color and light, Seurat developed a technique in which, rather than employing preblended paint colors, he painted images with small individually colored dots. His work pioneered pointillism, and changed the face of modern art.

Seurat died at the age of 31.

He never sold a painting in his lifetime.

Sunday can, in part, be viewed as a perfectly meta rumination on, as Sondheim writes, “the state of the art.” Act 1 takes place between 1884 and 1886, as Seurat is working on his masterpiece in hopes of making it into an exhibition. He is scorned by society as a “crazy” artist, and art connoisseurs are baffled by his innovation. Act 2 brings us a century forward, and takes place in 1984 (the year in which Sunday was originally produced on Broadway). Seurat’s great grandson, also named George, aided by his grandmother Marie (Seurat’s daughter), presents his work at an American art museum.

Sunday examines the tenuous relationship between the ever-elusive terms of commercialism and art, and their equally tricky potential for coexistence. At his post-presentation reception, 20th-century George laments the necessity of acquiescence to the commercial world. How do we measure an artist’s success? Can art for art’s sake be commercially successful? Does it have to be? Or must it be relegated to its own corner, unappreciated by the general masses? In begging such questions, Sunday seems to be forging a place for itself in a world of theater driven by commercialism. As it happens, Sondheim’s work has never been marked by its commercial success, but rather by its masterful artistic achievement. And for a show that dared to defy what it meant to create a musical that continues, over two decades later, to challenge audiences, perhaps these questions seem only appropriate. Sunday will doubtlessly still be viewed by some as heavy and abstract, cold and abrasive, or too heady and intellectual. But ultimately, what prevails is its emotional core.

As is typical of Sondheim’s work, Sunday tackles a painfully poignant longing to connect and to feel. As Seurat begs himself, “Connect, George, connect,” he is not only speaking about those dots on his canvas. He is speaking about his own very real Dot—his lover, and the mother of his child—who has recently left him for another man. His devotion to his art left him unable to adequately connect. Indeed one of the most astonishing things about Sunday is its heart. A good production of Sunday is one that actively gets at that heart, and this one does just that. Those who are moved by this love letter to the creative spirit will tell you of an artist’s ability to fully and completely love his work. Sunday is about that love, and the compromises we make for it.

Under Sam Buntrock’s delicate, expressive direction, this emotional thread thrives—you’ll be hard pressed to keep a dry eye at the end of Act 1, when Seurat stages his painting, complimented by the swelling “Sunday.” Daniel Evans (both Georges) and Jenna Russell (Dot/Marie), the Olivier-winning stars of the British run, are both utter perfection. Evans is better as Seurat, his humanity compelling and his struggle evident, while Russell is better as Marie.

In the current tradition of scaling down Sondheim, Jason Carr’s orchestrations expose what are arguably Sondheim’s best and most emotionally exquisite lyrics, without skimping on his music. But the most buzz surrounding this revival’s minimalist bent has pertained to its set, which is comprised largely of a series of innovative visual projections. These provide not only a backdrop, but also the ability for quick changes and lifelike movement, allowing Seurat’s painting to come alive in a new way—one that would not be possible with traditional sets. Visually pleasing as they might be, the projections’ biggest achievement is enabling Seurat’s painting to be treated as a character unto itself.

Sunday is, too, the study of the life of the painting. Seurat attempts to refute Dot’s accusation that he does not care for her by telling her: “I care about this painting. You will be in this painting.” A century later, Marie tells an art critic, “There are only two worthwhile things to leave behind when you depart this world: children and art.” Dot is, in George’s labor of love, immortalized forever. Where art stops and love begins may not be a clear point—but in total, Sunday is about the legacies of love we leave behind.