Encore Michigan

Cornwell’s “Shout” is a trip back to the pop sirens of the 60s

Review July 24, 2016 Marin Heinritz

MARSHALL, Mich.—“Welcome to 1962!” Dennis McKeen, director and producer of Cornwell’s Dinner Theatre, said, opening his curtain speech before Shout! “How many remember it?” Nearly every hand in the audience shot into the air.

This is exactly the right audience for this 2006 jukebox musical created by Phillip George, David Lowenstein and Peter Charles Morris, a feel-good ‘60s revival geared especially toward women and set in London. In it, five archetypal characters donning mini-dresses and vinyl knee-high boots belt out the most memorable pop tunes made famous by the likes of Dusty Springfield, Petula Clark, and Shirley Bassey, peppered with bits of dialogue full of full of silly puns. And at Cornwell’s nearly everyone in the crowd sings along.

The women are meant to represent archetypes of the era: the people-pleasing housewife who’s never as happy as she seems (Nancy O’Bryan), the bitchy fashion plate with her Vidal Sassoon bob (Anna ModicBradley), the sweet nerdy “hot mess” of a Georgie Girl with cat’s eye glasses (Jen Morris), the Beatles obsessed American (Nicole Tompkins), and the free-wheeling, free-loving tart (Miranda Jane). A recorded narrator describes them as “all different but with one thing on their minds—love.”

The narrator (Dennis McKeen) is the voice of Shout magazine, a fictional rag focused on laughable ladies’ concerns, beauty tips, and an advice columnist (recorded voice of Holly Norton-McKeen) whose answer to every question—from a self consciousness to failing marriage to domestic violence—is for women to make themselves prettier. To their credit, the women aren’t buying it, and though the advice doesn’t change over the years represented (1962-1970), the women do. Their evolution is that of feminism’s second wave—without any real politicization (beyond a nod to the sexual revolution) or representation of women who aren’t white and upper middle class.

Their changes, as well as those of the times, are shown largely through terrific costuming by Susan Frook. They shift from mini-dresses and boots with beehives and flips to sequined leggings and fringe to dashikis.
They do the frug, the swim, the popcorn, and the rest of the choreography from Miranda Jane includes plenty of creative swinging and swaying to the beat. These women can move, and the staging, against a set that includes colorful fabric panels splashed with iconic ’60s symbols such as peace signs, a dove, hearts, and the words peace and love, is never static, and keeps moving and grooving along with the songs.

The focus, naturally, is on those beloved songs, and the memories they inspire for the audience: “Downtown,” “Son of a Preacher Man,” “To Sir With Love,” “These Boots Were Made for Walking,” and, of course, “Shout!” which literally gets people dancing in and out of their seats. There’s no orchestra; the music is recorded from a synthesizer, so the quality of sound is even more contingent on the women’s voices. They’re not terribly distinct from one another, by and large, but they’re universally strong and together they create lovely harmonies under music direction from Denise Minter. Nancy O’Bryan has especially nice depth with her rich mezzo voice; Anna ModicBradley’s soprano is powerful; Nicole Tompkins achieves a big soulful sound. Jen Morris and Miranda Jane create the biggest, most distinct characters, and are also excellent singers.

Each character comes into her own and makes the shift from looking for love outside herself to loving herself—and each of these actors convincingly shows that change, all the while entertaining a satisfied dinner theatre crowd with a taste of nostalgia and a groovy trip down memory lane.

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