Sing Muse

Don't let them kid you with their humanities courses; the real dope is out now. Erich Segal has written an expose of the Iliad which offers the inside story of how Paris made it with Helen (or vice versa). And a better musical hasn't sailed to these shores since Harvard's own classical era (when Greek was mandatory, and diplomas still in. . . .).

Although Segal's book itself may only be an excuse for his songs, it's a clever excuse indeed. Moreover, those songs need no excuse in the first place. Set to Joe Raposo's catchy tunes, they string out into a truly hilarious cabaret-revue.

The show was stopped too frequently for any one number to be called a show-stopper, though I judge that the Deus ex Machina Mambo ("You can put stock in a/ Deus ex Machina . . .") drew the most protracted applause. In fact, the level of humor was so consistently high up to the end, that the show could almost be accused of lacking variety.

The jokes were schmaltzy, but it was the right kind of schmaltz: the kind that isn't self-conscious. Dean Gitter's direction was so rapidly paced that even the most outrageous puns seemed outrageously funny, and a laugh meter could praise them more accurately than a critic. By moving fast, Gitter managed to interrupt laughter with more laughter.

The cast almost outdid their material (or, to use his own idiom, Segal had fine actors on base when he hit this Homer). At any rate, they were superb.

Claire Scott as Mrs. Menelaus--that's Helen of Troy to you--found the right gesture and accent for every line. She brought a polished comedienne's subtlety to a frankly slapstick part, making the most of all her songs, especially, "Your name may be Paris, (but I'll call you Gay Paree)."

Gitter, in his capacity as actor, turns her shipping magnate husband--those who cut Hum 2 infrequently will identify him as Menelaus--into a Runyanesque caricature of the Bronx boy who makes real good.

The whole group deserves much more than comment; they have to be seen. Godlike Achilles, a fighter past his prime, is nicely spoofed by David Rawle. Malcolm Ticknor brings back to Cambridge an expressive voice and face as he plays Paris, the itinerant poet who satisfies the intellectual aspirations of Helen. Another appropriate performance is given by George Richardson, who portrays that efficient executive, Deus ex Machina.

Since this show is good enough to go straight from Leverett House to a summer engagement off-Broadway, several suggestions must take the place which further praise could easily fill.

The weakness of the ending is presently the play's major flaw. The plot itself concludes quite brilliantly, but the actual transition to a finale is awkward. Menelaus has been losing out to rival Trojan fisheries ever since his wife was involved in a scandal for corrupting the morals of a minor (Paris). The Trojan War offers an easy way out for everyone: Helen gets her lover, Menelaus his market, Achilles his promotion stunt. . . . But Segal, somehow, doesn't get the scene which would logically conclude the show.

A further danger results from a tendency to give too much. Instead of wanting one more verse out of every song, the audience is satisfied that it has had just enough. And this means that they've been given one too many. Similarly, Segal is having such obvious fun with language that he often does pun indiscriminately, and Raposo's music at times becomes too complementary to the lyrics, like chocolate syrup poured over chocolate ice cream.

But of course every pleasure has its own saturation point, and it's the chance you take when you offer so many pleasures. Even those who take offense when a lack of respect for classical language is shown, will find a great deal to laugh at in Sing Muse. It's a riot, and its short Harvard run should be extended in fairness to those who don't live in New York.