Me and My Show

I’m off to the Music Theatre of Wichita to see one of the best musicals ever written. My Fair Lady? West Side Story? A Chorus Line? No, Me and My Girl.

Whenever someone asks me to list my all-time favorite musicals, he winds up nodding along as I give the aforementioned expected titles but then he suddenly looks astonished when I say “Me and My Girl.” Yet I do believe that show is close to being a genuine masterpiece — at least in the revisal that Stephen Fry and Mike Ockrent fashioned from the 1937 musical that had book and lyrics by L. Arthur Rose and Douglas Furber and music by Noel Gay. First off, the score is quite nice, which you’ll discover if you get the MCA Broadway cast album (though it desperately needs a remastering).

I’ll admit that the sprightly songs don’t really move the action forward. The opening number seems especially irrelevant, for all it does is get us inside the Hareford mansion. There, the family solicitor Parchester has news for Maria, the Duchess of Dene; her daughter Lady Jacqueline; her would-be suitor, the Honorable Gerald Bolingbroke; and trusted family friend Sir John Tremayne. It seems that, although the recently deceased titular head of the Harefords was thought not to have had a genuine heir, he in fact sired an illegitimate son: Bill Snibson, who was raised by his mother in lower-class London. When Bill enters, he’s immediately branded as “Not Our Kind, Dear” for he repulses everyone with his lack of social graces. Bill’s nothing if not enthusiastic — though he saves his greatest enthusiasm for his fiancée, fish-cleaner Sally Smith. “Me and my girl,” he sings to her when they have a private moment, “we knew the ending a long time ago.”

Someone who’s seen a bevy of musicals can be pardoned if, at this point, he thinks that he, too, knows the ending. Isn’t it obvious that the Harefords will try to cheat Bill out of his fortune but that he will manage to outwit them? Ah, but the authors were much smarter than that, and so they took the story in a far more compelling direction. The Duchess says to Bill, “You have a birthright, and I will educate you.” Several times during the show, Parchester calls Maria “Your Grace” merely as a formality, but he happens to be absolutely correct: This woman is full of grace.

Sally surveys the posh scene and soon asks in fear, “Bill, all this ain’t going to part us, is it?” Most musicals would have made her clueless but Me and My Girl has its characters use the brains in their heads. And while most musicals are only concerned with getting the guy and the girl together, Me and My Girl is more interesting because they’re already a pair when the action starts but, now, something’s threatening to come between them. In many musicals, the threat is a person who’s dazzlingly attractive, but here the villain is not a character; rather, it’s class structure.

Though Bill swears that nothing will part them, Sally believes that his newfound title and money must do so. Don’t we all know couples who struggled for a long time and then, when one spouse became successful, he or she moved on to someone supposedly better? Not Bill Snibson. While so many plots of musicals rely on people falling in love out of physical attraction — yeah, chemistry — Me and My Girl has its leads offer the ultimate proof of love: sacrifice. Sally doesn’t want to stand in the way of Bill’s having a better life. She shows up at a posh Hareford party, purposely wearing her most garish clothes and dropping “h’s” everywhere, so he’ll see she’s not worthy. But Bill knows what she’s doing and is still ready to renounce his fortune if it precludes his marrying her.

During that party comes the score’s most famous song, “The Lambeth Walk,” which actually became a popular dance in the ’30s. Here, it’s Bill’s way of showing how much fun they all have back in the East End of London. He invites all of the Harefords to dance with him; they do, and they have a great time. This reminds me of that E.Y. Harburg line in “That Great Come and Get It Day” from Finian’s Rainbow — the one about how, when the poor folk come into money, they’ll share it. No matter how awkwardly the high-borns are doing “The Lambeth Walk,” they’re welcomed warmly by Bill and his Cockney pals. Peaceful coexistence and diversity!

But that’s not the end of the show; it’s just the end of Act I. The next morning, the Harefords revert to their old ways of wanting to turn Bill into a good-mannered noble. To his credit, Bill keeps trying to walk and talk as they want but he won’t relent on his plan to marry Sally. Not long before the final curtain, he shows that he is indeed noble, as in the tender way he tells the Duchess, “You seem to have lost your little battle.” Does the Duchess storm off in disgusted? Hardly. She’s noble, too. She proves it by saying, “I hope I’m not ungracious in defeat,” and adding — most accurately — “Bill, you’re a true Hareford.”

How smart of the authors to have Sir John feel for Sally’s plight and, behind everyone’s back, make her an offer: “There’s an army friend of mine. He shares a house in Upper Wimpole Street with a remarkable man who could certainly do it. He’s done it before.” Sally goes, is transformed into a veritable duchess, and everyone’s happy. (One has to wonder if Sally’s transformation by this unnamed Henry Higgins was part of the original script. It could have been, because long before My Fair Lady there was Pygmalion, with which 1937 West End theatergoers were certainly familiar.)

Couples must come out of this show wishing that their spouses cared as much for them as Bill and Sally cherish each other. I once heard that Hal Prince said after seeing Me and My Girl, “This is what musicals were like before Steve and I ruined them.” I can’t prove that he actually said that and, even if it’s true, I wouldn’t go that far; Prince and Sondheim have given me some of the greatest musical theater adventures in my 43 years of theatergoing. But I will go as far as the Music Theatre of Wichita to see Me and My Girl. Furthermore, I plan to catch one matinee and two evening performances. On Wednesday, I’ll report on Roger Castellano’s production, which stars the theater’s producing director, Wayne Bryan.

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[To contact Peter Filichia directly, e-mail him at pfilichia@theatermania.com]