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Written by Byron Kerman Tuesday, 18 April 2006 08:59

Not nearly enough of that Bollywood glitter and glamour, save for a scene in which starring lady Rani (Sandra Allen) descends from above, singing while perched on a dazzling crescent moon.

 

Music by A.R. Rahman | Lyrics by Don Black
Book by Meera Syal & Thomas Meehan
Directed by Baayork Lee
Through April 16, 2006

Going into the exotic Indian musical Bombay Dreams at the Fox Theatre, I figured that my enjoyment of the experience would depend largely on the singing and dancing and “lavish” sets. I had a hunch the musical wouldn’t have the complexity or depth to make me appreciate it for its plot or mood or characters. Surely, a marriage of silly Bollywood-film tropes and Andrew Lloyd Webber spectacle (Webber is listed in the credits for providing ideas that led to Bombay’s creation) would be total fluff. And it was.

I just wish the singing and dancing and lavish sets had carried the day. Because after seeing this puff pastry, I think what will stay with me most, if anything, is the gorgeous costuming. And those hard-bodied dancers wrapped in studded bodices and diaphanous saris, as fetching as they were, just couldn’t turn a samosa into a banquet.

Where were the “lavish” sets? The various scaffolds, risers, curtains and such leaned more toward the minimal than the sumptuous. The backdrops, as colorful and well painted as they were, reeked of the utilitarian. It was easy to imagine them being broken down and trundled off to the next town. Not nearly enough of that Bollywood glitter and glamour, save for a scene in which starring lady Rani (Sandra Allen) descends from above, singing while perched on a dazzling crescent moon. It may have been a theatrical cliché, but it was appreciated.

The singing was adequate, never overwhelming. The dancing was workman-like, barely remarkable. Bob Fosse surely wasn’t rolling over in his grave from these numbers. Two moments stood out: In “Shakalaka Baby,” the orchestra plays an addictive little tune melding raga and rock. As the song heats up, a fountain springs to life onstage, drenching the dancers in water. It’s sexy and fun (although, as one character points out, every Bollywood film has an obligatory “wet sari scene”). Similarly, the joyous “Wedding Qawwali” song soars at the night’s climax.

A little research reveals that Bombay Dreams, for all its shortcomings, is a faithful vision of a Bollywood film musical brought to the stage. The prolific Indian film community and the Indian government are both serious about censorship. Bollywood films—according to articles like this one (from slate.com)—may not include kissing or nudity. Occasionally a bit of kissing is permitted, but those lips better be closed (Bombay Dreams does have a long kiss near the end). Very little cursing is allowed, and a ban on smoking went into effect a little less than a year ago, too.

These “clean” films, produced in a country where religion apparently holds sway over culture, are usually three-to-four-hour musicals with an intermission, a love story and a happy ending. It’s a pretty strict formula.

Bombay Dreams is the story of a young man from “Paradise Slum” trying to make it in Bollywood. He gets his wish, and along the way, learns lessons about true love, and the foolishness of class distinctions. The musical is every bit as bland and predictable as the films that inspired it.

I wish there had been something “lavish” here, or something worthy of the term “spectacle.” Bombay Dreams played like an Elvis movie: high-energy music and dance in the service of boredom.