Judy Russell and Shelby Meaney’s one-two punch

In February, Judy Russell brought Cabaret to the Prince George Playhouse stage, a song-and-dance descent into darkness and despair set in the Kit Kat Klub of 1930s Berlin. Cabaret was also madly entertaining and showcased an amazing cast of local talent, led by Shelby Meaney, a triple-threat singer, dancer and actor who captured both the inner strength, the pathetic selfishness and the relentless exploitation of Sally with every move and note. The solemn message and troubled characters were on full display in Cabaret but they could easily be overlooked if the audience simply chose to laugh at the jokes and tap their toes to the tunes.

Cabaret was also a political statement, as it has been since it first appeared on Broadway more than 50 years ago, about how democracy and law crumble at the individual level without the vigilance of people aware of what is happening around them and the willingness to take action to stand up for truth and justice.

Five months later, Russell is back with a new production with Meaney once again in the starring role. In many ways, Legally Blonde is the perfect juxtaposition to Cabaret, lighter, brighter and triumphant while also issuing an equally poignant political battle cry.

As Sean Farrell pointed out in his Citizen review this week, Legally Blonde has to be seen as within the cultural context of its time of the early 2000s, where the second act showstopper Gay Or European? number is playful and innocent. In 2018, however, that number is far edgier, simultaneously homophobic and xenophobic in its mockery for cheap laughs of both gays and Europeans. Legally Blonde has three openly gay characters and the two men and the woman are all dated stereotypes, trotted out from the fringes for ridicule.

That potentially fatal flaw of Legally Blonde is now one of its strengths, however, and it helps age the show in unexpected, fulfilling ways.

Seen in a modern light, it is now a clever, campy mockery of white, straight culture, where both the shallow West Coast consumerism and the pretentious East Coast intellectual snobbery are exposed.

Director Russell leaves the bread crumbs there for those who wish to see. In a dialogue-free part that lasts barely a minute, Wil Fundal appears as a golf caddy to the rich, self-absorbed parents of the even more self-absorbed lead heroine, Elle Woods. When Fundal’s character is passing clubs or drinks, he’s the stereotypical East Asian servant, smiling and nodding in fake deference. When they aren’t looking, he scowls at the ridiculous white people, shakes his head at their ridiculous conversations and drinks their umbrella cocktails.

Legally Blonde rings both true and false in the year of the #MeToo movement when Callahan, the Harvard law professor, makes what in 2001 was an unwanted advance and in 2018 would now be rightly called a sexual assault on young Elle, putting his arm around her waist and kissing her. Elle immediately pushes him away and slaps him in the face, with the whole episode surreptitiously witnessed by Elle’s archrival, Vivian. Elle’s white and wealthy privilege allows her to both stand her ground and then fight back, bolstered by the support of her enemy-turned-friend Vivian. Elle’s race and class – her blondeness – saves her from a far worse fate than if her skin and hair were darker and/or she had come from the same impoverished background as Emmett, her mentor and eventual love interest.

Elle crosses the class divide, thanks to Emmett and her friendship with Paulette the hairdresser, but has only transferred from California white elite to Massachusetts white elite. Put in Cabaret terms, Elle has partly woken up but her life is still a dream, right down to the Greek chorus that follows her everywhere.

Technically and thematically challenging musicals wrapped in sweetly scented, glossy paper, Cabaret and now Legally Blonde are two gorgeous artistic gifts to Prince George in 2018. Behind the scenes, Russell delivers an artistic vision both playful and political. Under the spotlight, Meaney gives voice to both Sally and Elle with fearless, magnetic energy.

Bravo, ladies. Bravo.