The press release for Donna Feore’s summer production of Annie Get Your Gun states that this incarnation of Irving Berlin’s classic western musical was originally intended to be nothing more than a staged concert. However, somewhere along the line, presumably as the show became increasingly more elaborate, the “staged concert” was kiboshed as the production circled its wagons and forged ahead as a full-fledged musical.
Good choices were made: Massey Hall, one Toronto’s more acoustically perfect concert halls, was secured as the show’s venue. Louise Pitre, a veteran force of consistency and quality in the Canadian theatre scene, was tapped to play the sharp-shooting lead Annie Oakley, and Feore was lucky enough to assemble a killer orchestral ensemble to anchor Berlin’s fun and infectious toe-tapping score.
Enter country singer Paul Brandt (whose real name is Paul Rennee Belobersycky, by the way) the twang-happy Calgarian nurse whose 1996 hit single “My Heart is a History” propelled him to considerable, albeit temporary, fame. With her heart set on presiding over a shotgun wedding of pop-country and musical theatre, Feore sweet-talked Brandt into the part of Frank Butler, Annie Oakley’s cocky and misogynist mentor/competitor/love interest.
Weeks of rehearsals followed. Sometime during this period, Brandt realized that, while he could still rock a corn roast in Medicine Hat, with singing and dancing involved, he just couldn’t pull the trigger.
Exit Paul Brandt (with only two weeks until opening night!). Enter Billy Ray Cyrus. I swear to God I’m not making this part up. The last we heard from this Achy-Breaky wash-up he was starring in Doc, the fish-out-of-water medical drama that’s kind of like the opposite of City Slickers. Seeing as how his last major hit is about ten years older than Brandt’s, Annie’s producers must have been able to sense his desperation, and instead of safely casting an able local ringer, they thrust Cyrus, who admittedly had “never even been in a high school play,” into the midst of a major theatrical production days away from premiering. What could possibly go wrong? Well, not quite as much as you might expect.
Cyrus’s pathetic (and mulletless!) deer-in-the-headlights performance aside (c’mon, the guy’s a rookie and way out of his league here), the show was a solid rendition of some classic musical theatre. Pitre’s performance shone, and quite frankly, disarmed Cyrus in about five seconds-as a result, the competitiveness between Oakley and Butler is relegated to exist purely in the script, as nothing Cyrus can muster is anywhere near the high quality of Pitre’s presence.
Another glaring error, presumably a relic from the show’s earlier incarnation as a staged concert, had the orchestra seated right in the middle of stage. This forced the entire action of the show onto the fringes of Massey’s massive space. What a waste-this is not a show about an orchestra, for crying out loud. Annie Get Your Gun is a musical about the Wild West (or a traveling vaudeville act which exports the ideals of the Wild West to developing American cities) and the transient nature of traveling entertainers.
Open space is a huge theme in the play, which seemed to be contradicted more than merely ignored by Feore’s obsession with highlighting the talents of the orchestra. A noble cause, certainly, but also a needless one, as the orchestra was gifted enough to shine without dominating most of the usable stage space. It wasn’t only distracting, but disenchanting to watch cellists drink from bottles of Disani while they waited for their next cue. The orchestra pit was invented for a reason.
