Review: A GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE TO LOVE AND MURDER Packs Laughs Tight at Theatre Factory

There used to be a blog called "Low Budget Beasts," which eventually evolved to "Low Budget Shreks." Like the title implies, it was a site full of photos mocking community and small professional theatres for staging productions of tech-heavy musicals without the money and supplies to do them right. Ten years later, everyone and their mother has figured out how to do a good Shrek. It's just part of the theatrical landscape at this point. I will admit to having similar trepidation when I heard that Theatre Factory, one of the smaller (but much-beloved in the community) non-union professional theatres in the Pittsburgh area, was taking on A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder. On Broadway, it was a masterpiece of maximalism: elaborate costumes, grandiose gothic sets, sight gags galore, an imposing orchestral sound and a leading player running through nearly a dozen roles with an elaborate array of wigs, prosthetics and even bodysuits. That is not the sort of show you can easily do in a space like the Theatre Factory... but somehow, the stripped-back less-is-more approach WORKED. Director Olivia Hartle and a cast who sing as well as they clown made the show a vibrant, macabre success on a unit set with almost, but not completely no, bells and whistles.

It's the early Edwardian era, and Monty Navarro (Ryan Hadbavny) isn't a bastard exactly, but is treated like one: his late mother was tossed out of the aristocratic D'Ysquith family (all played by Noah Kendall) for marrying a Castilian musician. Now he's a nobody, working a menial job while supporting a demanding and social-climbing mistress, Sibella (Samantha Hawk). When Monty discovers he is eighth in line for the D'Ysquith earldom, a series of chance encounters lead him to consider homicide. Spurred on by Sibella's interest in a much wealthier man, Monty (much to his discomfort) becomes an unlikely serial killer.

This is a piece which leans heavily on its central players, particularly the two leading men. Hadbavny's light baritone has strength, but a delicacy that ties in well to Monty's breeding and poise. As he kills, lies and manipulates his way to the top, his perpetual wince at his own unseemly deeds has a Michael Scott quality to it that makes the scheming antihero endearing. Sophistication and broad physical comedy are a hard duo to mix, but Hadbavny pulls it off well, throwing himself gamely into the musical's many sight gags but never losing that sheen of "born for the upper crust." Opposite him, Noah Kendall makes a comic feast of the D'Ysquith family. Jefferson Mays, who originated the role on Broadway, was famously unrecognizable from character to character thanks to elaborate costume designs and make-up. Without that high-tech support, Kendall (and the production itself) have wisely leaned into camp instead: like Monty Python, there's often very little more than a change of jacket and accessories, plus a series of over-the-top accents, to assist with the character transformation. Kendall is routinely hilarious across all these roles, chewing the scenery as the part demands. It's a perfect comic star vehicle for someone with a knack for accents, slapstick and pratfalls; Kendall's numerous death scenes are a highlight, each one topping the last. 

The two leading ladies may not have quite as showy characters to play, but their soaring and demanding vocals more than make up for it. As fickle mistress Sibella, Samantha Hawk leans into the icy Mayfair ingenue vibe, while singing some truly challenging soprano material. Opposite her, Arielle Kroser applies a similarly daunting vocal technique to the virtuous upper-class Phoebe. Though Hawk is playing a coy Edwardian sexpot and Kroser a classic "good girl," they both get to utilize their comic chops in the musical's best known number. The tour de force "I've Decided to Marry You" is a trio for Monty, Phoebe and Sibella which sees all three corners of the love triangle singing mock operatic passages, patter sequences, and bouncing between high romantic drama and door-slamming slapstick farce. (As a written work of musical theatre, Gentleman's Guide is more funny than tuneful; most of the songs are more theatrically useful than they are memorable, with the exception of "I've Decided to Marry You," which is like Andrew Lloyd Webber's take on Gilbert and Sullivan.)

A reduced chamber orchestra, heavy on the woodwinds and lighter on strings and horns, is led by music director Travis Rigby to great success. The tight, more minimalistic sound (not entirely unlike the sound of Threepenny Opera in this configuration) suits the less-is-more aesthetic of the production at large. Sunshine MacIntyre's costume design for the ensemble has distinct shades of Disney's Haunted Mansion, a comparison aided by a cheeky moment of animated singing busts courtesy of projection designer/dialect coach David Nackman (who also cameos as the Inspector in the second half). With all the murders, classic British spookiness, quirky humor and costume changing, it's a wonder Gentleman's Guide hasn't caught on as a Halloween musical yet, but in the stifling heat of midsummer, this kind of lighthearted thrills-and-chills entertainment is just what the doctor ordered.