If there’s one musical that deserves to be called comforting, perfect for the holiday season, it’s definitely The melody of happiness. Created on Broadway in 1959 and brought to the big screen in 1965 with Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein’s masterpiece occupies a special place in the childhood memories of many. Twelve years after the rather conformist direction of Denise Filiatrault, Gregory Charles embraces the classic with all the know-how, sensitivity and professionalism for which he is known.
Produced by a consortium bringing together a dozen contributors, according to a model similar to that in force on Broadway, the show, presented at the St-Denis theater before being at the Albert-Rousseau hall, gives to contemplate, to hear and feel the means from which it has benefited. This is a vivid reminder that money often provides wings to artists who already have the talent.
From the first minutes, we are dazzled by the beauty of the images: verdant landscapes and grandiose architecture, moving watercolors that move on large sections of LED screens. While adopting an aesthetic that evokes that of the immersive exhibitions that are currently popular, the designers of Lüz Studio show a restraint that honors them. Thus rid of all tedious changes of scenery, the show gains in fluidity, freshness and poetry. Gregory Charles even dares to skillfully break the fourth wall a few times. In tune with, so to speak, freed from Austrian folklore, the costumes of Marie-Chantal Vaillancourt maintain a harmonious chromatic dialogue with their environment.
Up high, on either side of the stage, ten musicians under the direction of Jacob Roberge bring out the splendor of the compositions and the richness of the arrangements. Embodying the baroness and the producer, characters that are opportunistic to say the least, Éveline Gélinas and Éric Thériault are earthy. In the sober clothes of the mother abbess, Monique Pagé provides great chills with her powerful voice. On the evening of the premiere, the young people who interpreted the von Trapp children were not all equally comfortable on stage, but they were all just as cute, and their voices, especially in the harmonics, presented an admirable accuracy. Performing the pretty choreographies of Edith Collin-Marcoux under the benevolent gaze of Audrey-Louise Beauséjour, who embodies Liesl, the one who discovers love at “16 and soon to be 17”, the children quickly put the public in their pocket.
Trained in lyrical singing, Klara Martel-Laroche is perhaps not the warmest Maria, but her dynamism is undeniable, the dialogue portions do not destabilize her, and her voice is as full as it is solid. Younger and less imposing than most of the performers who have been offered the role of the Captain — a daring choice which modifies in a very interesting way the relationship of power between the lovers —, Éric Paulhus manages, thanks to his nuanced acting and his deep voice, to take up hands down a bet that was not won in advance.
At the heart of this work created more than 60 years ago, which depicts the rise of Nazism in Austria in 1938, there is a message of freedom and solidarity that has not aged a bit. So much so that we leave the St-Denis theater not only humming, but also convinced of the importance of remaining faithful to our convictions and our feelings, determined to climb the mountains to follow love and truth… from peak to peak.