The story in A Man of No Importance is small enough to fit one melancholy man, but it’s told in big songs by a big cast. We the People Theatre‘s production of the 2002 musical overflows with characters who turn a potentially mawkish tale into a stirring one, flavored with humor and human flaws, all propelled by spirited, wistful music.
Alfie Byrne has an unimportant job as a bus conductor, an unimportant dream as the director of an amateur theatrical group and an unimportant life as an unmarried man living with his sister. Yet all these circumstances are wonderfully important because they provide connections with other people — Alfie is part of a tapestry that needs every stitch, as this musical is gloriously good at proving.
But Alfie searches for invisibility because he can’t acknowledge his attraction to men. It’s 1964 in Dublin, and the moral bedrock is Catholicism and pub displays of masculinity. Alfie has plays and poetry to sustain him — he’s drawn to directing Oscar Wilde for a good deal more than the playwright’s wit, but he can’t admit the implications, even to himself.
The show’s opening number presents Alfie’s typical day, and the staging, music and lyrics cleverly demonstrate that even a humdrum life is filled with the hidden miracle of social ties. Alfie doesn’t see how important he is to those around him, but the umbrellas swirling on a rainy day keep parting to reveal him, and all the people boarding his bus are cheered by his greeting. Director Eric Love puts this solitary figure at the center of all the action, subtly hinting how far outward Alfie actually reaches.
Alfie’s quiet problems transform into soaring music, and the show moves with delightful velocity. Stephen Flaherty’s loping melodies make you yearn to know what happens next. Lyricist Lynn Ahrens is a storytelling powerhouse, building every song as a discovery the singer makes along the way. With clever rhymes and surprises, she resists sentimental generality to land on individual perspective. The musical, with a book by Terrence McNally, is based on a 1994 film of the same name.
If Alfie buries part of himself, he is surrounded by people who love everything he reveals. The St. Imelda Players are an amateur theater group that stages the shows Alfie directs in a local church. The endearing performers spring to life when they have a play to put on; their love for the stage is also a love of working together.
Some of the Players ride Alfie’s bus route, where passengers enjoy the conductor’s daily poetry readings. The bus also provides Alfie with casting inspiration. A new customer (the affecting Molly Davis Shimko) has secrets of her own, but Alfie draws her out to play the lead in the next show. And Alfie has his eye on the bus driver, Robbie, to be the leading man. Robbie (Alex Rushton, just roguish enough) will later lead Alfie on an exciting late-night carouse in “Streets of Dublin” that makes the whole audience feel ready to toss back a drink.
Alfie is casting Salome, a questionable choice for a church fellowship hall, but he considers the florid text Wilde’s masterpiece. Inevitable ecclesiastical pushback occurs when a sanctimonious cast member rallies the monsignor against the play’s suggestive subject matter.
Richard Waterhouse plays Alfie as a man who sees the best in others and the worst in himself. He’s riveting, driving right to the character’s earnest struggle. The 1960s costumes remind us that it would be decades before a character like Alfie could see himself in the world.
The ensemble creates a whole city’s buzz and even makes the scene changes glorious ballets of teamwork. They’re amateurs, like the Players they play, but Love’s direction gives their talent the chance to bloom in song and comedy. The 14-person cast is a willing canvas for Love’s attention to ever-changing stage pictures.
Ham Gillett brings a warm voice to Baldy the stage manager; Danae Nafziger Carlson, as Mrs. Patrick, sings a stunning hymn; and Jenn Langhus, with a fine voice, plays Alfie’s sister Lily with pinpoint plaintiveness.
The love of theater that shines in A Man of No Importance is genuine. Yes, some Players are hams eager for the limelight, but these aren’t buffoons who fail to see their limitations. They’re together to collaborate. A hilarious production number presents the group’s horribly bad early versions of props, costumes, posters and choreography. Each interim effort is rejected with the confidence to keep trying: “In a week and a half, it will be art!”
The revitalizing summons in “Love Who You Love” gives Alfie purpose, and the song is elegantly reprised by two other characters facing their own troubles. This production is rollicking fun but places personal searches at its heart. The sweet solution lies in trusting the people all around.
Scenic designer Alexander Woodward places a bright gold frame upstage, just in front of the orchestra, with brilliant red curtains and subtle lighting running over its molding. The gold outline borders the life Alfie keeps trying to conceal and sometimes feels like a gate he’s preparing to cross. The motif repeats in a desktop mirror where Alfie takes stock of himself.
Music director Alex Arlotta leads a seven-piece band rich in strings. Choreography by Julie Frew maximizes the company’s abilities. The big production numbers don’t reach extravaganza proportions, but all end with winning tableaux. A long list of backstage creatives hints at the community that We the People has bound together.
Onstage, the St. Imelda Players are infused with a love of theater, the place where you get to be another person. For some, like Alfie, you get to discover the person you are.