If something’s dirty, and it’s rotten, stands to reason it also stinks.
“Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” stinks.
The grift here is on audiences who paid up to $70 to see these scoundrels perpetrate such an unengaging, interminable and at times even objectionable boondoggle. That and how this musical ever managed to steal 11 Tony Award nominations (it won one).
It’s an uninteresting story, unappealingly played … and it has a yodeling song. Need more? The sound at the Buell Theatre was even worse than usual (really, how hard is it to get your body mics to not sound like a Hoover vacuum?).
Waves of the conned headed for the exits at intermission Tuesday. It’s not a good sign when, at the break, the stranger to your left is telling her partner, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen,” and the stranger to your right is telling his partner, “You know, we don’t have to stay.”
I don’t know much, but I know the first rules of an effective con-artist story are that the con has to be moderately compelling, the cons have to be moderately charming and the audience has to be moderately into it.
“Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” tries to be a cheerfully artificial throwback tale of British con Lawrence Jameson, an aging Lothario posing as a deposed prince on the French Riviera. Armed with sad tales of revolution in his fictional country, he’s getting rich off wealthy female tourists.
Enter a crass, small-time interloper named Freddy, who oddly lacks the grace to con a snake of its skin, yet these two make a pact: Whoever can first scam a visiting “American Soap Queen” of $50,000 gets to stay. The other must go.
These two charm our clueless dolt, all right (the details are unimportant). But Larry feels guilty to discover she’s not a rich mark but rather a sweet Midwesterner who has sold all her belongings for them. But just before things go all “In the Company of Men” on us, the tale takes an inevitable final twist seeking forgiveness for all its transgressions. And if you don’t see it coming, you deserve to lose your $70.
All of which might be forgiven, if the con weren’t a plodding 2 hours and 40 minutes in the making. This is old-fashioned escapism, from which there is no apparent escape.
This national touring production should not be mistaken for the clever 1988 Steve Martin-Michael Caine film, or even the smash 2005 Broadway musical from which this imitator has been copied.
It’s kind of shocking, really, especially after all the accolades that were heaped on the Broadway original. How could the tour have gone so wrong? Maybe it’s because it’s not also directed and choreographed by Jack O’Brien and Jerry Mitchell. Maybe Broadway stars John Lithgow, Leo Norbert Butz and Sherie Rene Scott are irreplaceable.
I asked someone in the audience: Does it help if you’ve seen the movie? “No,” she said. “It doesn’t.” I asked someone else: Does it help if you’ve seen the Broadway version? “No,” she said. “It doesn’t.”
I couldn’t help but wonder how Butz managed to win the Tony as icky Freddy. He really must be a genius, because successor Doug
Thompson succeeds only in creating a gross, thoughtless creep.
Now, Aussie Jamie Jackson is clearly a charming actor. But as Lawrence, he’s not creating a very charming character. His suave exterior gives way to something rather demonic. And Jenny Gulley plays the dupe with such aw-shucks gullibility, she not only makes her own character less appealing, she makes the cons look like rank amateurs. She’s genuine, she’s sincere, she’s dumb as a post. Or … is she?
The score has one unremarkable tune after the other, set to redundant choreography dominated by a single step that dancers call the “butt bump walk.” Ironic that a show offering so many passionate dances, like the tango, lacks genuine passion.
That the musical tries to evoke Hollywood’s golden era, selling itself as a whimsical, harmless fantasy while injecting jokes as crass as anything you hear in “Dumb and Dumber” only makes it more disjointed and annoying as it drags on. It tries to satirize the genre, only to devolve into a stereotype of it. There are no stakes that we care about. You keep expecting it to get better, but it doesn’t.
“Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” wants to keep you guessing as to who’s being conned. No need. It’s you.
“Dirty Rotten Scoundrels”
Grifter musical. National touring production. At the Buell Theatre, Denver Performing Arts Complex. Starring Doug Thompson, Jenny Gulley and Jamie Jackson. Through Oct. 28. 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Fridays, 2 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, 2 and 7:30 p.m. Sundays. $25-$70. 303-893-4100, 866-464-2626, 800-641-1222 outside Denver, all King Soopers or
3 more stage options
“Macbeth.” Listen Productions presents a gunslinging take on Shakespeare’s murderous classic, set on the Colorado frontier. William Hahn and Karen Slack lead an all-star cast. 7:30 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, 4 p.m. Sundays (except Oct. 21) through Nov. 17 at Buntport Theater, 717 Lipan St. $20 (2-for-1 Thursdays); 720-290- 1104 or and here’s
“Shirley Valentine.” The inimitable Pam Clifton plays an unfulfilled British housewife who goes on a joyful adventure. 7:30 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays through Dec. 16 at the Playwright Theatre, 2119 E. 17th Ave. $18-$20; 303-499-0383 or playwright
“Our Town.” The Evergreen Players present the Thornton Wilder classic, directed by Craig A. Bond. 7:30 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays (except Oct. 21) through Nov. 18 at 27608 Fireweed Drive. $8-$18; or 303-674-4934 — John Moore
Weekly podcasts
Audio: Running Lines with the cast of “Starship Troy.” The crew of the intergalactic space garbage truck talk with John Moore about next Tuesday’s launch of the second season of Buntport Theater’s fun serial, which offers new episodes every other Tuesday and Wednesday through April 23 (303-946-1388). Listen by . From there just press the miniplayer’s triangular “play” button and the podcast will begin immediately without downloading.
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Video: The Three Witches. In the second in a series of short interviews with the cast of “Macbeth,” John Moore talks with Trina Magness, Jamie Romero and Lindsey Pierce. Watch at . Posting Saturday: William Hahn.
