The Score, Shakespeare Theatre Company
One of the hallmarks of Simon Godwin's tenure at the Shakespeare Theatre Company has been an increase in the number of recognizable names from film and television, often achieved through partnerships and co-productions with other theatres. The Ralph Fiennes Macbeth was one that also had a limited UK tour, and Hugh Bonneville's face from Uncle Vanya graced quite a few promotions of the entire season (both productions were directed by Godwin). It's hardly a new observation, but big names simply don't guarantee successful theatre, however many seats they can fill. I didn't enjoy that Macbeth at all, and Melanie Field's Sonya was the performance I still think about from that Vanya (with the caveat that Field has also done noteworthy film and tv roles, but is carving out a distinct theatrical place for herself amid multiple returns to both STC and the DC theatre scene in general).
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All this is to say, it shouldn't have surprised me that when you visit the STC website, looking for information about its season-opening production, the page reads in big block capitals of the same size: BRIAN COX IN THE SCORE. It's even listed as such in the web address itself as not a play, but an actor in a play. Come see Brian Cox! He's playing Bach, you've heard of Bach, everyone knows Bach! It'll be well acted, well-produced, and you'll feel very accomplished and erudite by the end. Wham, bam, it's a ticket to a full house, ma'am.
The problem is, The Score just doesn't ever quite cohere as a play. The text by playwright Oliver Cotton seems unsure of exactly what kind of play it's trying to be, and for whom. In one early scene, Bach labors to explain to his son his current fixation on the moment when desire becomes will becomes action: a perfect setup for a Stoppardian exploration of single, big intellectual idea spun out across a very specific historical milieu that ultimately ties into something achingly simply and human (e.g. Arcadia, or Rock'n'Roll). And yet, this idea never returns... so it's not that kind of play. There's a moment where a character asks Bach what a fugue is--crucial information for the audience to understand, considering that when we reach the conflict in Act 2, the inciting moment revolves around an improvised musical fugue. And yet, no explanation is given by Bach or any other character; instead, the assumption must either be that the audience is well-versed enough in musical theory to understand the term and why it can be a challenge, or that there's no need to explain because the audience can just watch the ensemble and share their emotional reaction sans the context that the characters onstage share. Why leave the audience out of the fun when two sentences could have done the job? By contrast, Cotton paints the political situation surrounding Leipzig during the reign of Frederick II with a more detailed hand, filling in the gaps of the average audiences' expertise in Prussian history of the 18th century, and likewise helping them to create connections with modern circumstances and universal human experiences. It also feels at times that Cotton wants the play to be not a showcase for Cox, but a meeting of equals, composer vs. king. Skilled though Cox is as an actor, the conflict might be better served in a production where Frederick II is played by an actor of the same star power so that the play feels more like a true showdown between matched forces. Stephan Hagan does fine work as the king, but his continued presence in the narrative feels unjustified after their explosive argument. Also Voltaire is there for some reason? The play needs a tighter focus and more clearly defined arguments to underpin its reach. A sharper version of The Score could have effectively argued that the fugue wager isn't the macguffin to bring the king and the composer together, but could rather be the central metaphor for conflicting perspectives in conversation; instead, the fugue seems to be a fugue, the king is sad, and Bach is always right.
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The relationship between Bach's music and Trevor Nunn's direction also seems shaky at times. I've no qualms with the underscoring between scene changes, and actor Toby Webster (who plays court composer Franz Benda) is a skilled cellist, so both during the play and during the intermission, he has opportunities to play live for the audience, which lights up the experience of this play about musicians. But the transition from an aria used as underscoring to actor Nicole Ansari-Cox miming both singing and accompanying herself on the piece without interruption feels jarring, breaking the bargain with the audience's suspension of disbelief that has withstood several hours of mimed harpsichord playing thus far.
So what does work well? For one, Nunn's brilliant use of a revolve paired with Robert Jones's set design. Instead of aiming for full-stage grandeur, Jones's interiors are sketched with a central piece of furniture, a musical instrument, a scenic drop indicating a primary wall, and a single door suiting the space. It's beautifully effective and Nunn's transitions between scenes work particularly well, working with those large set pieces to reveal furniture and actors that sweep into Johanna Town's lighting as the stage turns, and the crew swiftly completes the changes while the audience's gaze is drawn right where Nunn places it. Jones is also the costume designer for the production, and does a very good job using wigs and clothing to demarcate character and class among the ensemble.
Most strikingly, what I have found is that The Score makes for an absolutely fascinating discussion topic. Many plays that don't hit the mark do so in terribly dull ways, and leave both the critic and the audience member with little to say about a 2-3 hour shared experience. Not so The Score! This production doesn't really work for me at all, but I've spent over an hour already discussing it and trying to parse the why and how, and what did succeed and what small adjustments might be interesting to see play out. If nothing else, The Score aims for complex and meaty goals, and that's something to appreciate when we need art in all flavors and shapes and sizes to buoy us through these difficult times, just as Bach and his contemporaries did. The eighteenth century, see? They're just like us.
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