Bloody-hooded prisoners, sexual degradation, psychological manipulation: for once, these disturbing elements do not make up the nightly news report on Iraq, but are the stuff of entertainment. Boston's SpeakEasy Stage Company has made an ambitious choice in deciding to produce "The Kiss of the Spider Woman," a work that weaves a dark tale of torture, homosexuality and death - and, of course, it's a musical.
Most of the action takes place in the claustrophobic quarters of a Latin American prison, where two very different men find themselves cellmates and unlikely allies. The play begins as guards drag in a young revolutionary named Valentin (Brendan McNab), whose beaten body is tossed into the cell of the flamboyant Molina (John King), a gay window-dresser.
Serving an eight-year sentence for having sex with a minor (he swears he didn't know), Molina has endured the daily degradations of prison life by escaping into a Technicolor fantasy world inspired by his favorite B-movies, all starring his beloved Aurora (Christine Maglione), the epitome of screen queen glamour. But Aurora's most sinister incarnation does not bring him comfort: she stalks the prison as the Spider Woman, offering death and release with a single kiss.
Molina cares for Valentin until he regains consciousness and soon shares his survival strategy with his new cellmate. Molina vividly retells his favorite plots in the hopes of distracting Valentin from the physical pain he undergoes during tortuous interrogation sessions, and the emotional anguish he suffers over his failed rebel cause and the girl he left behind.
At first, Valentin wants nothing of it; Molina's meddling and his passion for interior design grate on his nerves. But as the months go by, as the beatings grow more violent, and the song-and-dance numbers more fantastic, the ritual becomes a lifeline for him as well.
Valentin even comes to appreciate Molina's ministrations, especially after one particularly agonizing bout of diarrhea (this isn't Rodgers and Hammerstein, folks). The two men grow closer, but it becomes clear that no one's motivations in this play are as pure as they appear.
The performances are solid, particularly in the case of John King, who almost out-struts Aurora when mimicking his idol's feminine graces. He possesses a surprisingly strong, resonant singing voice as well. For her part, Maglione really gets into her ever-changing role, taking on one cinematic persona after another with ease while always exuding an enigmatic sensuality.
It is a bit hard, however, to buy Brendan McNab as an ardent Latin revolutionary; his performance comes off as rather muted. Also, Molina is supposed to be ten years older than his Marxist cell mate, but King looks boyish in comparison to McNab.
Costume designer Seth Bodie outdid himself when it came to Aurora's many elaborate ensembles; bedecked in beaded headdresses, draped in feathers and furs, and sparkling with sequins, Aurora's character was truly enhanced by her fanciful costumes. Set designer Eric Levenson likewise deserves praise for making good use of the small space with his versatile cage/web of a set.
Unfortunately, not all the production details came together so well. Call this critic a nit-picker, but there was something disconcerting and disappointing about the muffled thuds that were supposed to represent gunshots (especially when a sign posted at the door warned patrons with heart conditions that loud gunfire would be heard during the performance).
The same went for the canned screams of prisoners, which sounded like they came from a cheap cassette of haunted house sound effects. Sound quality was again an issue when it came to musical accompaniment; it was surprising to learn that a live orchestra was hidden backstage, for the keyboard-heavy instrumentals sounded like they came from a Casio synthesizer.
Little details like these kept from the audience from feeling truly transported. Also, the intimate Roberts Studio Theatre at the Boston Center for the Arts may not have been the ideal setting for the work, as the choreography sometimes seemed to require a larger stage.
The show's creators clearly thought that Manuel Puig's novel, which also inspired the 1985 film of the same name, was ideally suited for a musical interpretation. Yet translating the heavy subject matter of Puig's novel into an effective and affecting musical is a risky business. Just as Molina can't stop crossing the chalked-out boundary that divides his side of the cell from Valentin's, the show sometimes oversteps the thin line that separates camp from corny.
The musical won seven Tonys when it premiered in 1993, so perhaps some of the work's incongruities were glossed over by a lavish Broadway treatment. But, in this production at least, there are certainly some cringe-worthy moments: there is simply something jarring about manacled men dancing in a chorus line.
But the show gains its stride as it goes along, getting it pitch-perfect on numbers such as "Morphine Tango." In general, the company makes an admirable effort in portraying a difficult play, which, despite its flaws, still has interesting things to say about the resilience of the human spirit and the sacrifices that love demands.
