What is Amélie?
Directed by Brian Weaver at Portland Playhouse, the play is a musical adaptation of Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s 2001 French movie, but that description hardly does this tour de force production justice. Sweeping its audience off in a blissful current of sound, motion, color, humor and humanity, Amélie might best be called “an experience.”
As in the movie, the musical’s titular character grew up in a dream world where she never learned to connect with others, until she hears the news of Princess Di’s death and begins to imagine herself becoming, like Diana, a celebrated doer of good who spreads joy.
Before seeing the play, I couldn’t imagine anyone other than the film’s star, Audrey Tautou, as Amélie. That changed for me, though, the second Lo Steele stepped on stage. With a stunning singing voice and nuanced facial expressions that communicate everything from empathy to impishness, Steele portrays the iconic character with a winning blend of sensitivity and swashbuckling ingenuity.
Supporting her is a uniformly superb cast of actors/singers/musicians/dancers, such as Emmanuel Davis as Amélie’s sweetly sincere love interest, Nino. Other well-known performers include Jimmy Garcia, Susannah Mars, and Benjamin Tissell, who in a sparkling jacket and square-framed glasses, performs a hilarious Elton John-inspired musical number. Along with the humans, there’s also a life-sized puppet version of a younger Amélie, who wears an expression that’s so curiously heart-tugging, it seems wrong to refer to her as an inanimate object.
Rather than the catchy songs of more traditional musicals, the production features a nearly constant flow of music written by Daniel Messe, with lyrics by Messe and Nathan Tysen. With co-music direction by Elleon Dobias and Kennedy Verrett, the live orchestra isn’t tucked out of sight, but is made up of the onstage cast themselves. Making their movements look effortless, each actor flows from playing their characters to playing multiple instruments throughout the show, adding to the production’s overall sense of wonder. Sammy Rat Rios, for example, plays cello, percussion, and even whistles, while also portraying the hypochondriacal Georgette who fills the theater with the sound of her sneezes.
Although nearly all the performers are on the tiny stage for most of the show, Kemba Shannon’s choreography is woven seamlessly into the story and keeps the characters eddying across the stage and around the piano, the top of which serves as the bar at the Montmartre café where Amélie works. Even without high-kicking chorus lines, the numbers are showstoppers, as when Amélie imagines her own dazzling funeral, with the cast wearing shiny egg yolk-colored choir robes while they wave their hands above their heads.
Here and throughout, Wanda Walden and Dayna Lucas’s costume designs evoke the whimsical look of the film with bright pops of color, such as the red dress Amélie wears near the end. Dan Meeker’s lighting design does this too, especially with the green light that suggests a metro station.
Meeker, who’s also the set designer, created the outlines of the café and a spiral staircase that leads to Amélie’s apartment. On the café’s scalloped awning, projected close captions are great for catching the witty gems tucked in the steady stream of clever lyrics, such as rhyming “diagnosis” with “vaginosis.” Alan Cline’s projection design also adds depth and magic to the simple set, letting us see the paintings by Dufayel (Charles Leggett) and the arrows that lead Nino all around the grounds of Sacré-Coeur.
In Portland Playhouse’s intimate space, the palpable affection and energy of the cast seems as much a part of the show as its music. Before the play begins, actors wander on stage to tune their instruments and chat with each other, reminding us that the Playhouse’s theater was once a church and a gathering place for the neighborhood. Later on, Amélie’s work friends warn Nino not to hurt her. Even without a romance, she’s already become part of a caring community, which fits the vibe of the homey theater, where audience members munch popcorn served in real bowls and are encouraged to greet each other.
Without being the least didactic, this delightfully heartfelt musical is a reminder to look up from our phones now and then and take in all the life that swirls around us.
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Amélie is onstage through Nov. 10 at Portland Playhouse, 602 N.E. Prescott St. Tickets: 503-488-5822 or online at https://portlandplayhouse.org/.
A nominee for six Pushcart awards, Linda Ferguson writes poetry, fiction, essays, and reviews. Her latest chapbook, "Not Me: Poems About Other Women," was published by Finishing Line Press. As a creative writing teacher, she has a passion for building community and helping students explore new territory.