Lady in the Dark

Lady in the Dark: Jan Farrington review

Dark Lady

Lyric Stage shines light on a newly restored gem—with Weill’s music and Ira Gershwin’s lyrics providing much of the sparkle.

IRVING — Ah, those sweet-tart Kurt Weill tones—mellow one minute and jabbing your ears the next; atonal, lyrical, jazzy, bluesy, swinging, marching…and sometimes all of that together.

Lyric Stage is taking the newly restored Lady in the Dark out for its first spin onstage—and as test-drives go, this one’s a joy. It’s taken years for the music mavens to restore Weill’s 1941 Broadway hit to its original form. Lyric Stage was hand-picked to premiere it, and it’s a labor of love (and reverse engineering) you’ll want to catch while you can.

Lady in the Dark gleams with the genius of Weill’s endlessly inventive music, which weaves itself so tightly to Ira Gershwin’s practically perfect lyrics we can’t begin to divide the glory. And if Moss Hart’s script feels a bit dated in a way the music doesn’t, it still has some punch, with the kind of wisecracking earnestness found in ‘40s stage plays and films.

Lyric Stage’s 30 musicians blaze away under music director and conductor Jay Dias’ baton, and the chance to hear Weill’s original orchestrations is “pure delight,” to borrow from one of the songs. The show has a remarkable structure: no overture (or not until the second act, anyway), and dramatic scenes with virtually no music at all. But there’s a surfeit of melody and color once we get to the land of dreams—and Weill built it all, amazingly, on a three-note theme that’s the key to what conductor Dias called a psychological “detective piece.”

Liza Elliott, successful editor of the country’s premiere fashion magazine—think the Diana Vreeland-ish boss of The Devil Wears Prada—suddenly feels she’s “falling to pieces.” Depressed and panicky, she’s desperate enough to give psychoanalysis a try. In sessions with psychiatrist Dr. Brooks, she recalls the notes of a childhood song (“My Ship”), but can’t understand why they frighten her. On the couch, she slips into waking dreams of glamorous nights, weddings, circuses, high school—“little one-act operas” Weill called them—that begin in hope and end in confusion and fear. Dream characters hurl questions: What’s the matter Liza? You should be happy. Tell the truth, Liza—who are you really, and what do you want? In her dreams, the doctor notes, Liza is the opposite of her workaday self: glamorous in jewel tones instead of drab browns; confident, not confused; feminine and passionate, the reverse of her usual controlled, cool persona.

As Liza, Janelle Lutz has a voice that can ring like a bell—and her performance soars at just the right moment, in Weill’s torchy “The Saga of Jenny.” She can seem a tad too controlled, even in some of the extravagant dream sequences—yet there’s plenty of verve in her quick-change transformations from prim to princess, helped along by costume designer Drenda Lewis’ sleek satin gowns.

Lois S. Hart scores in the small but vital role of Maggie Grant, Liza’s friend and colleague on the magazine. She’s funny and frank, and cares so much about Liza she convinces us she must be worth caring about. Sonny Franks is empathetic and focused as Dr. Brooks; Jenny Tucker amuses as a “too chic” columnist; and Ryan Appleby is a ball of artsy fire as the magazine’s gay (tho’ we couldn’t have called it that in ‘41) fashion photographer, and as the ringmaster in Liza’s circus dream, who breaks into the patter song “Tschaikowsky”—a long list of Russian composer’s names, cleverly rhymed a la Gershwin, and unrelated to anything else that’s going on. Why not? It’s all in her head.

In fairy tale style, Liza is given three choices—of guys, in this case. (Spoiler alert? Not really. You can see it coming for miles.) Christopher Deaton makes a handsome (if intentionally bland) lover; he’s the married publisher Liza’s lived with for years, but might not really want. Conor Guzmán, all white teeth and rock-hard abs, plays movie star Randy Curtis (“40 million women love him”), unexpectedly attracted to the no-nonsense Liza. And Shane Peterman is almost too annoying as Charley Johnson, the magazine’s hard-driving advertising exec—who seems to resent every inch of the woman who is his boss. “Teacher’s mad,” he sneers at Liza. [A script note for the Kurt Weill and Rodgers & Hammerstein folks: Are audiences really supposed to see this guy as All-American and attractive? Listen hard; you’ll hear women’s teeth grinding in the audience.]

Director and choreographer Ann Nieman keeps an ensemble of 30 players imaginatively on the move, and the production has a swirling and beautiful fluidity. The stage is often crowded, but there’s method in the madness: a minor-key wedding march turns into a gauntlet Liza must run; circus characters suddenly slam together to become a jury for Liza’s trial.  Liza’s real life plays out in the corners, where set designer Cornelius Parker gives us a slash of doctor’s office here and Liza’s Art Deco office there. The land of her dreams, appropriately, exists in the stage space that lies between, gorgeously lit by designer Julie Simmons.

But though Lady’s visuals are striking, it’s the music that lingers.

Weill is probably most famous today for The Threepenny Opera and other avant-garde pieces from his days as Germany’s artistic wunderkind of the 1920s and 1930s. But the Nazis changed Weill’s trajectory. He came to live in America; more than that, he wholeheartedly committed himself to becoming an American, and an American artist—and why not? He’d been listening long-distance to the sounds and words of American musical theater and jazz for decades, making them his own. And Kurt Weill’s “American” music finds eager new listeners every year through concert and full productions of Knickerbocker Holiday, Street Scene, One Touch of Venus, Lost in the Stars and others—now including Lady in the Dark.

And speaking of lingering, be sure to linger after the bows to watch Jay Dias and the Lyric Stage orchestra gallop through Weill’s “Dance of the Tumblers”—the one bit of music from Lady that isn’t played in its original spot in the score. It’s a fun and unexpected musical bonus… just when you thought there wasn’t any more to hear.

Lady in the Dark: Nancy Churnin review

Exquisite ‘Lady in the Dark’ a must-see from Lyric Stage

IRVING — The greatest and most difficult journey most of us will ever face is to know and be true to ourselves. That’s the haunting thought rippling under the melodic leitmotif that weaves hypnotically through the exquisite Lady in the Dark from Lyric Stage at Irving Arts Center.

This is the first opportunity to see this 1941 classic about Liza Elliott, a fashion editor inspired by Diana Vreeland, after a historical restoration by the Kurt Weill Foundation for Music.

The marvelous melding of Weill’s melodies with the wit of lyricist Ira Gershwin and playwright Moss Hart makes this a must-see. The show breaks the rules, and astonishing performances that trouble, stir and refresh the heart prove these three provocative musketeers knew what they were doing.

The first surprise is the absence of an overture. Instead, Liza enters the office of a psychoanalyst confused by why her self-control is cracking. Under the discerning questions of the doctor, sagely played by Sonny Franks, she recalls a musical fragment that ushers in the first of three musical dream sequences. Each propels her on her internal odyssey.

Another surprise is the show’s separation of story from song. The play about Liza’s life stays independent from the musical dreams, a distinction clarified by Cornelius Parker’s nimble rolling sets and Drenda Lewis’ exquisite costumes.

Like Dorothy opening her gray farmhouse door to Technicolor Oz, Liza sweeps into a vibrant world when Rosebud-like notes pry open her subconscious about dilemmas she’s suppressing.

The radiant Janelle Lutz delivers a dazzling star turn as Liza. She draws rapt attention as a bloom absorbs light, her crystalline voice pivoting adroitly from the saucy “The Saga of Jenny” to the soulful “My Ship.” In a flash, she’s back and buttoned up as the editor, emanating subtle suggestions of conflicts roiling within.

It’s a delight watching Ryan Appleby in the role that catapulted Danny Kaye to stardom. He segues seamlessly from the play’s histrionic fashion photographer to the flamboyant ringmaster in the final dream, where he nails the tongue-twisting “Tschaikowsky” song.

The cast of more than 30 shimmers under Ann Nieman’s direction and choreography. Lois S. Hart offers tender concern as Liza’s assistant and friend. Jenny Tucker draws laughs as the fashion columnist obsessed with calling things chic. More deserve praise, but to tell too much would be to give too much away.

It’s nearly three hours, but don’t leave until after the last lilting threads of music fall from the 30-piece orchestra, exuberantly conducted by Jay Dias. You’ll treasure each note as the melodies haunt you on the drive home.

Lady in the Dark: Jay Dias interview

Weill Times

Music director and conductor Jay Dias talks about working from Kurt Weill’s original score for Lyric Stage’s full-orchestra revival of Lady in the Dark.

Irving — German-born composer Kurt Weill, writes critic and author Michael Feingold, “changed the face of theater music….Wherever you go in music theater, from mass spectacle to surrealistic caprice, Weill was there ahead of you, humanizing the didactic and bringing depth to the divertissement.”

Weill was a huge influence on a generation of Broadway-bound composers and writers. Kander and Ebb, Leonard Bernstein, Rodgers & Hammerstein and many others crafted songs and shows that are what they are…because Kurt Weill came to town. His songs have been covered by artists all along the music spectrum: Elvis Costello, The Doors, Louis Armstrong, Ricky Lee Jones and Bobby Darin (yes, “Mack the Knife”), as well as innumerable opera stars and cutting-edge chamber ensembles.

Weill was a classically trained composer who became a European sensation of the ‘20s and ‘30s for avant-garde shows including The Threepenny Opera andThe Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny—both part of a radical political and artistic partnership with writer Bertold Brecht.

But in 1935, this cantor’s son decided Germany was becoming more dangerous by the day. He was a cultural target for the Nazis; Hitler at one time called Weill “a menace to Aryan culture.”

Time to go.

Traveling through England, Weill and his singer-actress wife Lotte Lenya found their way to New York. Just three years later he had a hit musical on Broadway, 1938’s Knickerbocker Holiday—the story of some (much) earlier emigrants to Manhattan. Other New York successes over the years included One Touch of Venus in 1943, The Firebrand of Florence in 1945, and 1947’s Street Scene. Weill teamed with the best: he worked with Ira Gershwin, Moss Hart, Ogden Nash, Maxwell Anderson, Langston Hughes, Elmer Rice and many others. And he died too young, in 1950—his and the century’s fiftieth year.

Lyric Stage is reviving Lady in the Dark, arguably the most famous of Weill’s “American” shows, though one that isn’t often given a full production. And though the musical had been on the company’s to-do list for a long time, this production was prompted by an invitation from the Kurt Weill Foundation for Music in New York—which chose Lyric as the best company to premiere a new “critical edition” of the show, using original sources to re-create the musical as it first ran on Broadway in 1941.

Lady in the Dark, with lyrics by Ira Gershwin and book by Moss Hart, is the story of a smart and successful woman, Liza Elliott, who struggles with inner demons and mental stability. The show’s “psychoanalysis” plot broke new ground; so did Weill’s choice to separate the music from the dramatic scenes: Liza tells her dreams to her analyst in what Weill called three “little one-act operas.”

Lyric’s longtime music director and conductor Jay Dias seems elated by the chance to work on the show, which he says is one of Weill’s best, showing off all he could do as a composer and maker of theater. Dias, who has worked on nearly two dozen Lyric Stage productions over the past decade, was especially excited by being able to use some of Lady’s original materials—including Kurt Weill’s personal copy of the score, full of his handwritten notations.

We talked with Dias in a brief lull before the excitement of opening night.

TheaterJones: Obviously, the Lyric audiences see you conducting shows in performance. But I’m not sure everyone understands the entirety of your role as conductor and as Lyric’s music director.

Jay Dias: The quick answer for that is that the conductor serves two functions in a musical or opera. One is just the practical person who says, “This is the tempo we’re taking” and acts as a liaison between the people onstage who can’t see the musicians, and the musicians in the pit who can’t see the singers. The conductor acts as a train conductor, keeping everyone on track.

But perhaps what’s less understood is that the conductor also interprets the work as a living performance, much as an actor doing a Shakespeare performance will have his or her feeling about a certain speech. The conductor is guiding everyone’s performance in these music sequences. It’s a matter of having that one vision of the whole of the work, and then living it in the moment by telling the story the whole piece is trying to tell.

In a beautifully constructed piece [like] Lady in the Dark—and Kurt Weill did his own orchestrations—the orchestration is enhanced, much in the manner of Puccini, in terms of it really telling a story. So in rehearsal we work out the parameters and the grand vision, and in performance the conductor, with the actors and musicians, lives it. You’re using the notes on the page, as rehearsed, but moving it into the moment, as if it’s happening for the very first time.

With this production, the intention is to be as authentic as possible to Weill’s original vision—but is there any sense of wanting or trying to put your own imprint on the work?

When I’m working with a score, my goal is to bring it to life in the way the composer, in his or her dreams, would have wanted the story told—because when they write, they write to tell a story.

As you dug into the Lady in the Dark score for this production, what about the process surprised or energized you?

That’s an easy question for this one. For Lady, [the best part] right from the get-go was being able to work with Kurt Weill’s own manuscripts. Not only was I able to see the partitur—the fancy word for the full conductor’s score—but I also had the original rehearsal score used for the show [in 1941]. In that first rehearsal book I was able to see everyone’s notations, which was helpful, but in the partitur, in Kurt Weill’s own hand, you can see so much—for example, the intensity of the stroke of his pencil. Seeing a composer’s handwritten marcato accent versus the computerized version—it’s like seeing a handwritten letter versus one that’s typed. It can tell you something of what might have been in the composer’s mind at the time. It can tell you so much as a conductor—and also confirm your instincts. If your natural inclination is saying something and then you see it in the composer’s intensity on the page, it gives you confidence to say, “let’s go down this path.”

Sometimes what results from that can be radically different from the way people have gotten used to hearing a work; often I have people tell me they feel they’re experiencing a score for the first time. But it’s just that we take the time to go back to the original. Through the years shows can collect strange traditions—and sometimes it’s good to dust everything off and work from the original materials.

With Lady in the Dark, that’s been a joy. There’s been lovely work done in preparation for the show by the Kurt Weill Foundation, and then with having the original manuscripts and letting them [spark] our own instincts and responses—well, it’s been pretty fun!

You rank Lady in the Dark very high among Weill’s works, I gather.

What’s just terrific about this score is that I think both hardcore, musically knowledgeable audience members—and ones who don’t have musical training—will end up with so much.

And it’s all just amazing. Here’s Kurt Weill coming to America, and after a few years in one of his first Broadway musicals he’s working with Ira Gershwin as lyricist and Moss Hart as the book writer. It’s the story of Liza Elliott, who goes to the psychoanalyst to work out her issues. And the markers of her life are always associated with a childhood song, “My Ship.” She doesn’t even remember the lyrics, just a bit of melody. So he bases the entire musical score on the first three notes of a children’s song, “My Ship.” Da, da, DAH.

It’s like a detective piece, a Law and Order episode. In the beginning of the play Liza hums the melody and the orchestra picks it up. From then on, the audience will hear snippets of that melody in all the sequences in which her dreams come to life. But there are wonderful variations [on the same theme] all the way through to the culmination.

What Weill does is amazing. An average listener may hear the song “One Life to Live” and think, “Oh, that’s a fun tune!” Liza is having a glamorous dream, in which she climbs up on a soapbox at Columbus Circle to tell everyone her philosophy of life. But music geeks will hear and understand that this wonderful, jaunty melody’s motif is the melody of “My Ship”—but turned upside down. It’s quite a trip, and leaves geeks like me in awe of Weill’s complete brilliance, on a level with the finest composers who ever lived.

In terms of harmony, the score progresses from D minor, which is a sad chord, if you will, to the chord of F major, which is a happy chord. F in Western music theory is the tonal basis, and D minor is the related minor chord. So they’re musical cousins—and the whole score moves from Liza being in sadness, to her finally finding answers and enlightenment, from darkness to light. It’s one of the greatest scores ever written for theater, I think, and not only musical theater—an extraordinarily well-crafted piece. And the cast loves it.

And all of us non-musicians out in the audience will experience those feelings, even if we don’t know how to express it in musical terms?

Absolutely! You may not know why you’re sensing a sweet sadness, but you’ll feel it. For example, the last chord of “My Ship”—which in the show marks a big event in this woman’s life—is what we call an F sixth chord. It sounds, OK, like a pretty sweet chord. But it’s actually a D minor chord juxtaposed with an F major chord, both of them sounding at the same time. It almost comes off like a dance-band jazz chord, but there is a sadness to the sweet sound, too. It’s simply extraordinary writing.

After Weill came to the U.S., he liked to stress that he’d truly become an American. In terms of his work as a composer, was he right about how well he’d assimilated?

I think he was spot-on. He was able to take and write the American vernacular very quickly, and yet keep his European bar set extraordinarily high. And like Sondheim in our own time, Weill would set parameters, and generate tremendous creativity by working within them. So, he says: I’m going to write the whole show based on the three-note beginning of a children’s song. It’s mind-boggling to see what he does with the composition and the orchestration, staying within that parameter without ever becoming repetitious.

You’ll have to forgive my excitement—I’m a music geek. But people are going to be so happy. And the lyrics are wonderful; such a close collaboration between Weill and [Ira] Gershwin that it appears everything is coming from one hand. To an audience they seem effortless, but that’s the sign of great art.

I was thinking about what might connect the refugee Kurt Weill in 1941 with his central character, Liza. I think they are both survivors, not the “giving up” types—and perhaps that’s why he was interested in telling her story.

He didn’t cry in his beer, did he? And here’s where I think his classical music chops came into play. In Lady in the Dark, Weill is able through music to explore the psyche of a character, not just a banal mood—I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m confused—but working at a very, very deep level. You feel it in the orchestration, in the notes played, in the emotional pull of a chord. And it isn’t effects for effects’ sake, or having the strings play something muted that will tear our hearts out. It’s all tied in to tell the story of this woman as she starts to put two and two together to figure out her life. It’s very deep, and because of that, very satisfying to work with this material.

Lady in the Dark: Alexandra Bonifield review

Lyric Stage Sheds New Light on ‘Lady in the Dark’

The company’s landmark recreation of the Weill/Gershwin/Hart musical from 1941 sets out to recapture the show’s original glamour.

Accessibility or authenticity? Must these equally desirable theatrical qualities be in conflict, or can they complement each other? When it comes to musical theatre—and vintage specimens in particular—some companies vigorously tailor their productions to keep audiences engaged, as if they’re worried that theatregoers won’t find a period piece relevant if it’s not modernized, restored or otherwise reworked.

But at Lyric Stage in Irving, Tex., a 10-minute drive from downtown Dallas, the mantra of everyone involved in the company’s productions—classic and new musicals, with full acoustic orchestration—is unapologetic authenticity. And Lyric Stage’s newest offering is a musical-theatre aficionado’s dream: a rare “critical edition” production of Kurt Weill, Ira Gershwin and Moss Hart’s groundbreaking 1941 musical Lady in the Dark, produced with the blessing of the Kurt Weill Foundation. The show runs April 24–May 1.

Lyric Stage’s mission, to develop and preserve the American musical, is not unique, nor is the notion of dusting off little-performed classics. But the company’s insistence on note-for-note authenticity—its stated intention is to “allow contemporary audiences to experience musical-theatre treasures the way their authors intended for them to be experienced”—does stand out, especially in Texas. Authentic recreations are Lyric Stage’s business—just 19 of the 102 shows mounted there so far have been world premieres.

Founding producer Steven Jones says the company’s new revival of Lady in the Dark came about by “mutual acclamation.” The show had been on the theatre’s short list for a number of years when, in 2009, Ted Chapin, president and executive director of the Rodgers and Hammerstein organization, saw Lyric Stage’s restored production of The King and I, and suggested to the Weill Foundation that Lyric Stage would be a great place to revive the German émigré’s musicals. The Weill Foundation granted Jones and company permission to produce the “critical edition”—essentially an estate-approved version, culled from research about the authors’ original intentions in the absence of a definitive licensed version—as a test run. But first the restored performance materials had to be prepared for staging.

Lady in the Dark, in whatever version, is long overdue for reconsideration. With music composed by Weill, lyrics by Ira Gershwin (making his first return to Broadway after his brother’s death in 1937), and book and direction by Moss Hart and a sumptuous budget, Lady in the Dark was considered at the time “one of the most innovative works in Broadway history,” avows musical-theatre specialist and musicologist Bruce D. McClung. Gertrude Lawrence starred as a depressed fashion-magazine editor in need of psychoanalysis, whose on-the-couch sessions spur ever more elaborate memory sequences until she has a breakthrough (to the tune of the lilting standard “My Ship”). The show turned featured newcomer Danny Kaye, who performed the tongue-twisting patter song “Tchaikovsky,” into a star overnight.

The show’s subject material, psychoanalysis; the need for a star performer to carry the lead role, and the elaborate sets and extensive costuming required for the indicated 50-plus performers—these are among the reasons Lady is seldom remounted. (A well-received West End production in 1997 starring Maria Friedman was the show’s last major English-language revival.) Lady kicks off with its unconventionality front and center: There’s no overture and no big opening number. The first scene, in which lead character Liza reclines on her psychiatrist’s couch, has no music at all. The songs come later, in three extended fantasias: the Glamour, Wedding and Circus Dreams, which function almost as operettas unto themselves, tucked neatly into Hart’s straight dramatic script. Definitely ahead of its time in 1941, it may still deserve that designation today.

The Weill Foundation has worked for years to create an authentic critical edition of the show. Supervising the project is Elmar Juchem, associate director for the foundation’s publications and research. He describes why the project took so long to reach this stage.

“The surviving musical materials from Lady in the Dark are the most extensive of any of Weill’s works in the U.S., so there was a lot of material to review. We found sources that document precisely how the show ran in the early ’40s,” Juchem reports. “But here’s the problem: During the run of the show, both Moss Hart and Kurt Weill published scripts, minus music and piano-vocal score—these scripts didn’t match each other, or the show as it was playing on Broadway. Random House then published a script that seemed directed to a read-at-home market. At the same time, Chappell Music released a vocal score that gave no guidance of how the show should be performed in the theatre—no dance routines, no incidentals, entr’acte or exit music indicated.”

In short, says Juchem, “Put the cacophony of published sources together and you end up with a cumbersome play that could run for almost four hours.”

Fortunately for the Weill Foundation, an assistant stage manager’s script from the run survived, with specific notes showing actual cues, cuts, additions and who played or doubled roles. (Five stage managers worked the Broadway production.) Then someone neatly typed up a consolidated production script shorter than the Random House–published version, after the show left Broadway.

But that wasn’t the end of the story.

“Another wrinkle appeared in 1950,” continues Juchem. “Dramatists Play Service took over the show’s rights and issued the libretto, which followed the long Random House version, ignoring Hart’s detailed production notes as its Broadway director. All consequent productions to date have been required to use this non-authentic version.”

Lyric Stage’s fully staged and orchestrated production of the Weill Foundation’s painstaking restoration work will reveal what further changes may be required to best recreate the original for future licensed production. In addition, it will give its audiences—some of whom fly in from across the country regularly to attend—the opportunity to see the show mounted fresh and complete, as if for the first time. Lyric Stage’s primary venue, Carpenter Hall at the Irving Arts Center, easily seats more than 700, and the proscenium-style stage has ample wing and fly space to accommodate elaborate sets. For Lady, the company plans to use both realistic and fantastical set elements and modern lighting techniques to define the scenes and moods of the show; the orchestra will play the score much as it was first heard.

Some adjustments will be made to the designated cast size. In 1941, as was the custom, the show’s cast of 50 included separate dancing and singing ensembles; today’s top ensemble performers routinely do both. Lyric Stage’s production will employ close to 30 Equity and non-Equity artists—still an oversized cast by contemporary standards.

The key to musical-theatre performance, in both excellence and accessibility, resides primarily in the hands of the music director. At Lyric Stage, Jay Dias leads an orchestra of up to 40 musicians, depending on score requirements. That big, beautiful orchestra is one thing that impressed Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Chapin, which is why he was happy to have orchestral restorations of Too Many Girls and The King and I first performed there.

Dias is a self-confessed research hound, and he believes his work always pays off. He points to 22 years of Lyric Stage productions as evidence that when performances are realized authentically according to the original creators’ intention, the works emerge as timeless, universal and surprisingly accessible, no matter their age. He credits not only the depth of his research but also the duration of the company’s rehearsal period for both orchestra and vocalists—longer than many producing organizations can afford. For Lady, the cast began rehearsals March 30, and the show goes into tech April 20. Meanwhile, Dias’s orchestra—30 instruments for this show—rehearses for full days by itself before joining the cast in tech week. That’s a generous amount of time to spend with a vintage work.

In the make-or-break lead role of Liza is regional leading artist and Lyric Stage regular Janelle Lutz. “She’s the real deal,” enthuses Dias. “I think she would have fit Kurt Weill’s dream casting if he had not already had Gertrude Lawrence in mind in 1941.”

A large orchestra and extra rehearsal time doesn’t come cheap, though. In 2007, the National Endowment for the Arts awarded Lyric Stage a grant to mount Carousel. “It was so successful we could have run that show for a year to full houses,” Steven Jones remarks. “But we knew that money would not last forever.” Two angels subsequently stepped forward. Ralph and Joy Ellis had been season subscribers for some time before the enhanced mounting of Carousel, and after they saw it, they approached Jones with an offer of a multiyear donation to facilitate further productions. The Ellises’ continued support, Jones says, “allows us to keep mounting American musical classics at this unique level.”

“My ship’s aglow with a million pearls / And rubies fill each bin,” go the beatific lyrics of “My Ship.” At Lyric Stage, a little Texas-style philanthropy has put a fresh gleam on a work that might otherwise languish in the dark.