With the bong of a drum and the intermittent crackle of a BBC Foreign Service radio broadcast, the stage is set for “Song of Singapore,” the corny but fun and latest musical undertaking of the Northwest Savoyards.
The action takes place in front of a dragon mural backdrop in Freddy’s Song of Singapore Cafe, a nightclub on the seedy waterfront of Singapore, the “Paris of the Pacific.” It’s December 1941, and enemy Japanese troops are about to launch an invasion of China and are massing on the border. A group of expatriate singers and players in the band, known as the Malayan Melody Makers, may have to evacuate at a moment’s notice.
One by one, we’re introduced to the performers. There’s Spike Spauldeen (Roger Bare), a kid from Brooklyn dressed in baseball cap and suspenders. The bandleader and emcee of sorts is Freddy S. Lyme (Bruce Cameron). Then there’s Rose of Rangoon (L. Sam Samano), the club chanteuse who seems to have forgotten who she is and what she’s doing here. And there’s the slightly debonair gent who represents the Dutch Indonesian colonial contingent, Hans Van Der Last (Jonathan Warren Lee).
Band musicians, all dressed in straw hats, include Stu Poulin on drums, Erik Hunter on trombone, Chris Kolakowski on bass, Terry Titmus on trumpet, Lonnie Mardis on guitar, and Herb Hamilton on reeds. Music director David Little plays piano. We do not hear from the two couples (Tina Asavaphanlert, Tom Munyon, Krista McRae and Robin Kurtis) who sit at ringside seats, but we do see them get up and dance to the music at opportune moments. There’s also a bit of audience participation as singers step out into the aisle.
The show’s songs reflect the tight multi-part harmonizing and swing rhythms of the big band era, set to clever lyrics. (Book, music and lyrics are by Allan Katz, Erik Frandsen, Michael Garin, Robert Hipkens and Paula Lockheart.)
The plot thickens a bit when the corrupt (“tall, dark and underhanded”) superintendent of police, Inspector Kurland (Michael McFadden) enters the bar, trying to get his hands on hidden jewels. The obstacle to his plan is one Chah-Li (Heather Apellanes), the new house manager, a petite Asian woman dressed in satin sarong, who utters such prophetic, if absurd Confucian warnings as “dead people in bar often have negative effect on business.”
Ultimately, Chah-Li is not to be trifled with. Her lines remind the audience she’s not as subservient as her stereotype might suggest: “We did invent gun powder, you know,” she says, “along with movable type, egg noodles, monosodium glutamate.” Her mission is to return the sacred jewels to her people.
As he did in last year’s production of “Kiss Me, Kate,” director Jonathan Edwards has assembled a cast of fine singers who harmonize nicely, capture the swing rhythms ably and put pizazz in their signature numbers. Music director Little and his band give them great backing. (Mardis’ electric guitar riffs are particularly good).
The show becomes a vehicle for one rollicking swing number — or bluesy torch song — after another. The jokes and snippets of dialogue seem to take a backseat to the music.
Some of the more memorable songs include the ensemble opening and closing number “Song of Singapore,” the soft shoe-inspired “I Miss My Home in Harlem” and the cut-loose, Queen-Latifah-esque “You Gotta Do What You Gotta Do.” Even the preposterous sub-plot of Rose’s identity spurs the moving torch song “I Can’t Remember.”
“Rose of Rangoon” offers the comical lyrics: “Rose of Rangoon, blew into Asia like a South Seas typhoon. When she hit Manila, she charmed the whole flotilla, she left them standing there in their Fruit o’ the Looms.” The playful choreography of “I Want to Get Offa This Island” has hula-inspired sign language and singers in sunglasses who look like Malaysian Blues Brothers.
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