On A Clear Day’s After-Life Lesson
In 1965, On A Clear Day You Can See Forever must have seemed odd–a romantic musical that, in the midst of mounting social upheaval, went inward toward self examination. The new Broadway production seems odder still since self-questioning doesn’t Occupy anybody’s priority these days. Yet director Michael Mayer, faithful to the wonderful Alan Jay Lerner-Burton Lane score, reconceives the show to emphasize its essence, finding fascination and purpose in self-examination.
Mayer rethinks Lerner’s original plot to center on a psychiatrist Mark Bruckner (played now by Harry Connick, Jr) who falls in love with his patient David Gamble’s (David Turner) past life–the hidden female personality of a 1940s big band singer, Melinda (Sarah Stiles). If this sounds like an awfully intellectual, Sondheimian pretense, remember that On A Clear Day features beautiful songs with fully rounded emotional contours: ”He Isn’t You,” “Melinda,” “What Did I Have That I Don’t Have?,” “Come Back to Me” and the extraordinary title tune.
If Lerner’s concept always lacked serious spiritual inquiry–falling back on unfulfilled romantic-comedy boilerplate–its existential supposition is carried by the songs which are good enough to make the show genuine, a romantic, existential landmark. (“And who would not be stunned to see us prove/There‘s more to us than surgeons can remove.”) Mayer’s conceit trafficks awkwardly in p.c. territory, flirting with sexual identity as if lecturing about gayness and tolerance, yet it fulfills a subcultural Broadway tradition that uses heterosexual show-tune conventions to address spiritual, emotional universality. Dr.Bruckner and David never consummate; their emotions are misdirected, yet they learn an after-life lesson. This is better than Brokeback Mountain patronization even if less perfect than Pygmalion–to which it is somewhat similar. Only in our shrill cultural moment could critics miss the intricacy and beauty that Mayer maintains in Lerner’s basic ideal.
Mayer’s first half drags as he and book writer Peter Parnell sets up the widowed Dr. Bruckner’s professional dilemma and the complicated split of David’s personality. Set in 1975, the term “homosexuality” jolts the comic premise and exposes it as a conceit rather than a drama. That’s not the worse thing, its just unredeemed by the poorly achieved big band flashbacks and the unappealing, drag-like Melinda performance. But the second half’s sung-through complexities are swift, clever and moving. “Come Back To Me” (now a male duet) successfully plays off Connick’s masculine heartthrob presence and a quartet treatment of “He Isn‘t You” suggests romantic complications we know from Cosi Fan Tutti. This performance comes close to fulfilling Vincente Minnelli’s underrated, visionary 1970 film version (the basis of the show’s design).
Not perfect, On A Clear Day urges romance beyond narcissism. It’s got that magnificent title song and a higher love story which, unfortunately, isn’t hip these days. Faced with its profundity, and feeling contemporary Broadway faithlessness, David pouts “That’s not good enough,” And Dr. Bruckner advises, “But it’s all we can do.”
