More than likely, most of you are familiar with the phrase popularly attributed to Julius Caesar:“Veni, vidi, vici,” meaning, I came, I saw, I conquered. After seeing String, the world premier musical developed by and now playing at Village Theatre, I’ve got a new version for you: “Veni, vidi, confusa.” That means, I came, I saw, I walked away confused.
To use a different analogy: Sometimes, when you get that cool kit from Ikea and get it all put together, the finished product is greater than the sum of the parts. What was in the box was just a bunch of sticks and bolts, but when you’re finished, it’s a dresser. Or a cabinet. Or a whatever. And it’s beautiful. It just makes the room where you put it.
Sometimes the sum of the parts in the box is the finished product: you put it all together and you get what you expected. You’re satisfied, but not overwhelmed. Life is good.
Then, there’s that rare time when the parts in the box just don’t fit together. Maybe somebody dropped in a part from another kit; maybe the machining is just off. Whatever the cause, there IS no finished product. The sum of the parts is … zero.
Sadly, String is closer to the latter than anyone could hope.
Some of those parts are beautiful. Each and every performance by a talented cast is spot-on, from star Jessica Skerritt as “Atropos,” an ancient Greek goddess, down to Bobbi Kotula as “Geneva,” an overnight janitor. (In fact, at one point Geneva steals the show for a moment by dropping her mop. You have to see it to believe it.)
The cast is filled with delightful voices. The dancing is well performed. The design of the set is superb minimalism; I particularly loved the use of light to depict the tapestry of life spun by Atropos and her sisters. How’d they make the light beams bend that way?
And yet. And yet.
String’s story is essentially as simple as that of any musical: Boy meets girl. They fall in love. Girl gives up everything for boy. Boy can’t handle what he’s been given and goes nuts. Then, in the end, he learns to understand the gift he’s been given.
Of course, though, there’s an over-arching setup: the girl happens to be a goddess. She and her sister goddesses (Lachesis and Clotho) are not just goddesses, either, they are The Fates, who hold each and every human in the palm of their hands. It is Atropos’ job to determine how long every person will live, based on the strings (thus the title of the show) created by her sisters. At the top of the show they piss off Zeus, who exiles the three of them are from Mount Olympus; when the show proceeds, Atropos and her sisters are in a modern-day megalopolis, living and working on the 200th story of a skyscraper, still doing their string thing after all these millennia, still making their tapestry of lives.
Enter Mickey, a security guard who works in the 3rd sub basement, watching the thousands of cameras that stud the building, watching Atropos take her breaks by riding up and down in one of the building’s elevators. He’s fascinated by her, and finally ventures out to meet her, despite his innate shyness. They fall in love and things are sort of OK, until Atropos comes upon the string that is Mickey … and it’s supposed to end, horribly, in an elevator crash.
Which she can’t let happen. Instead of cutting the string, like she should, she gives the string to Mickey.
The consequences of that seemingly harmless, even romantic, action, are immediate: the world begins to end. A blizzard begins, in August. Strands of the tapestry go sour. Mickey becomes immortal; he throws himself off the roof of the skyscraper, 200 stories up, and lives.
Even with the mythical overtones it’s a simple story. The trouble is, picking that story out from amid all the noise is not just a chore, it’s neigh-on impossible; my wife never did get the story, and she’s no dummy. There’s simply so much noise, so much distraction from the supporting parts, that the story itself gets lost at times, particularly in Act I. And if the story can get lost, the audience can just as easily get lost, and wind up at the end having enjoyed the overall spectacle and some of the parts (I really loved that tapestry set!) and yet having no idea what just happened.
None of which is to say String should be written off; it may be that the overall spectacle and the few special parts are enough. Yet, it’s such a wonderful story, it’s a shame that it gets lost. The story, indeed, would have made a fabulous Twilight Zone episode. And maybe that’s what String needs: Rod Serling’s dulset tones, setting the stage at the beginning and then wrapping it up with an ironic commentary at the end. Instead, the show is bracketed with visits by Zeus, the king of gods, played here as though he is a horny, hormonal, teenager. While I suppose that interpretation is as fair as any — the Zeus of Greek mythology is always a decidedly unlikable character — the story wants for something more. The story deserves something more.
Whether the show as a whole deserves anything more, remains to be seen. Which you can, of course, do. Just don’t be surprised if you walk away confused.
String, at the Francis J. Gaudette Theatre in Issaquah through April 22; moves to the Everett Performing Arts Center from April 27 through May 20. Issaquah box office (425)392-2202; Everett box office (425) 257-8600.