In one sense (and this would be its strongest rationale), the Postdramatic movement could be called The New Naturalism—that is, it does delineate the time-and-space predicament in which many (not all) people spend much (not all) of their time, and find the structures of their lives disintegrating in the whirlwind of hyperaccelerated techno-events that give them no footing, and in which their aim must constantly re-adjust to shifting targets. But the Postdramatists don’t simply plead a new true-to-lifeness; they advocate for the condition, think it’s cool and want us to jump into it with them and glide unprotesting to its indeterminate but somehow imminent destination, on pain of being dismissed as derrière-garde, behind the times. I think it is very important for all of us, but especially all who work in any capacity in the arts, to understand this mindset, which at its best generates serious argument with parallels in contemporary philosophy and social theory—to understand it in order to see that it is the great task of the arts in the twenty-first century to set it into sharp, brilliantly illuminated relief, and then refute it, decelerate it with all possible braking force, and reclaim personhood for humanity.

I cannot discern any artistic raison d’être for the presence of Most Happy in Concert in any theatre’s season, let alone as the centerpiece of WTF’s. But there could be some other reason, and one such occurred to me after the show, as we wandered down the corridor whose walls display posters and photos from the Festival’s long, proud past. It was an ominous thought: this production is in development. Future iterations are spoken of. That possibility gives rise to the increasingly troublesome question of just what the non-profit designation is for. That’s a big debate, especially in our democracy, with its reluctance to grant preference to the high culture. But I am fairly sure that whatever the purpose, it’s not to “workshop” takedowns of borderline works, whatever the intellectual pretensions of its “creators” or the potential financial return to the host institution may be. (I am not privy to the terms of Most Happy’s unhappy stay at WTF.) These are desperate times, I know, but there has to be another way.

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And to conclude, a few follow-up notes on aspects of the above:

Robert Weede: The superb original Tony, present on Columbia’s cast recording. He did very little other studio recording, and despite lengthy associations in important roles with the Met, the San Francisco Opera, etc., there is surprisingly scant broadcast material available, as well. But he did record an LP of Verdi arias for Capitol, and if you’ve been listening to  our baritones of the past 40 years or so, it’ll perk up your ears.

The Second, “Complete,” Recording, on Jay Original Masterworks: By and large, I prefer the original cast version. But this one is entirely professional, and valuable for its inclusion of some 22 minutes of music cut from the Broadway production during the rehearsal and tryout periods. The material is important especially for its strengthening of the role of Marie, not only with Eyes Like a Stranger, but with a substantial scene between Marie and Tony, Nobody’s Gonna Love You Like I Love You. Between them, these excerpts make Marie both a more formidable antagonist and a more understandable woman. The part is taken by Nancy Shade, who had been the good Rosabella of the above-noted Cincinnati opera production in 1971. She was a full-voiced soprano, not a contralto, and the nearly 30 intervening years had left their mark, especially in the passaggio area. But she gives an emotionally riveting performance that clinches the case for the restoration of these passages. I’m less persuaded of the necessity for the rest of the excised music, but opera devotees will note 1) the decidedly operatic flourish of the Doctor’s brief I’ll Buy Everybody a Beer, well sung by William Burden, 2) the presence of Louis Quilico, Cincinnati’s splendid Tony, who could not quite replicate that performance 20 years later at the NYCO, but is managing surprisingly well another 19 years down the road here. Considering that he began singing professionally in the early 1950s, we can fairly say that he was a solid baritone for an unusually long time. And 3) the continued evidence throughout these restored sections of the harmonic and orchestrational touches of Loesser and Walker, which so often lift this score above the level of its genre. The rescued passages are presented as “bonus tracks,” rather than integrated into the work’s continuity. I would have preferred otherwise; but at least it’s all here. There was also an original London cast recording, and apparently a disc of excerpts from the 1991 Broadway production—small-scale, very well directed (by Gerald Gutierrez) and acted, but two-piano accompaniment only—neither of which I have heard.