Set against the epic backdrop of the French Revolution and based on the classic Dickens novel, this is a musical about injustice, vengeance and the redemptive power of love. When Dr. Manette is released from the Bastille prison after 17 years, he must be resurrected from the brink of madness by his daughter, Lucie. In England they meet the exiled French aristocrat Charles Darnay, whom Lucie marries; and the drunken cynic, Sydney Carton. Soon family secrets and political intrigue combine to draw Lucie and her family back to Paris. At the height of the Reign of Terror, the musical finds an unlikely hero in Carton. Book, music, and lyrics: Jill Santoriello, directed by Warren Carlyle.
Theatre is not completely wheelchair accessible. There are no steps into the theatre from the sidewalk. Please be advised that where there are steps either into or within the theatre is unable to provide assistance. There are 2 seats available for wheelchair seating.
There is a wheelchair accessible restroom (unisex) located on the lobby level
Mezzanine - 2nd level, up 20 steps
Restrooms: Wheelchair accessible on lobby level(unisex)
Men's restroom on Mezzanine level, ladies restroom in lower lounge, (down 18steps)
Hearing Impaired and Deaf: (212) 757-5679
Partially Sighted and Blind: H.A.I. at (212) 575-7663,
Subway
1, 2, 3, 9, A, C,
E, N, R to 42nd St Times Square. Walk 3 locks to 45th St, then west to theatre.
One almost forgets how good a story Charles Dickens penned for A Tale of Two Cities. In her musical version of the same title, Jill Santoriello flattens that story like road kill. The music is either generic or tuneless, the lyrics that of a gushing teenager and Ms. Santoriello's book a vague reminder that one should re-read the novel.
The production's director and choreographer (???), Warren Carlyle, ensures that everything is fast, loud and obvious on Tony Walton's clunky, noisy set, horribly lighted by Richard Pilbrow. Perhaps Mr. Walton tried to provide the notion of revolution's rolling thunder but within minutes you just want the furniture movers to take a long meal break.
As for the performers, they barely register or are so cartoonish as to give Looney Tunes a bad name. The Manettes are tres manqué; the Defarges de trop détente; Barsad sadly bad; Mr. Lorry and Miss Pross interchangeably unfunny; and in the hands of James Barbour, Sydney Carton becomes a smug sot when he should be a charmingly disillusioned imbiber. And as for everyone's singing, it is of the "American Idol" variety, cranked up and manipulated on the audio knobs by sound engineers.
We don't even get to see a decapitation or two, but a few heads certainly should have rolled. To coin a phrase, "it was the worst of times that got even worser."
