The depiction of New York’s criminal-justice labyrinth in the “Law & Order” shows, for all their flirtations with shaded morality, ultimately proves more reassuring than not, invariably sympathetic to the agenda of prosecutors and the police. Now Denis Woychuk, an author and former lawyer for mental patients, has written the book and lyrics for “Attorney for the Damned” (titled after his memoir), a rock musical articulating his satirical, nightmarish views of the system. (It’s at the Kraine Theater, which Mr. Woychuk owns.) For all its raucous caricature and contrivance, the production feels more convincing than anything on television because its perspective offers a more stinging ambiguity. With humor and songs, no less.
Laura Skyhorse (Allison Johnson) is a lawyer defending pro bono Garrett Cooke (Denny Blake, also the show’s assistant musical director), a man prone to proclamations like “Give me Librium or give me meth!,” and Sixx (Pat Mattingly), a hotheaded, emasculated pedophile. Dr. Marcus Blake (Ray Fisher) is a cool psychologist with a hidden scheme (and designs on Laura), and the Judge (Brian Ferrari) is an officious blowhard.
Laura’s opposite is Sara Vancussy (Juliana Smith), the assistant district attorney, a steely, Type A vixen. (“I don’t mind a little hit and run,” she purrs to Dr. Blake.)
All are drawn in delightfully thick brush strokes; almost all have their solo moments; and all are played by an exuberant cast, especially the warm, moon-faced Ms. Johnson and the spitfire Ms. Smith. As events spiral toward a climax more symbolic than plausible, the actors’ spirits never flag.
The music — by Rob McCulloch and performed with assured economy by five musicians, one (Teddy Williams) also in a small role — is less punk than melodic, midtempo classic rock, dropping nods to Pink Floyd, the Rolling Stones and the Phil Spector Wall of Sound. The costumes, by Jeaho Lee, include fishnets, a black miniskirt and hot pants for the three backup singers, the Jurettes.
“Attorney for the Damned,” as directed by Stephen Vincent Brennan, has the conviction of experience. It’s profane, astringent, defiant and buoyant, much like its home, the East Village, once was before it was overrun with skyscrapers and pinstriped professionals. Maybe what musical theater, at its best, can still be.
Readers' Reviews
 |
Average Reader Rating
 
(4.5 stars, 4 votes) |
|
|
 |
|
