Beneath Bombay Dreams' veneer of exoticism beats a heart that is pure Las Vegas.
The notion of a musical about Bollywood (India's thriving film industry) held promise. Yet Bombay Dreams' mix of splashy production numbers and melodramatic kitsch, while occasionally diverting, is seldom involving and ultimately undistinguished.
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Much revised from London to Broadway, Bombay Dreams has been revised again for the touring production giving its Houston premiere at Hobby Center.
The plot centers on Akaash, a lad of the Bombay slums, who dreams of becoming a Bollywood star. As he sings in one of Don Black's hackneyed lyrics: "Like an eagle was born to fly/Right across the open sky/I was born to be seen/On a screen/In Bollywood." Actually, Akaash, and his show, were born to recycle every old showbiz clich in their new Bollywood setting.
The story's lack of credibility is epitomized by the pivotal early scene in which Akaash participates in a protest that breaks up the Miss India pageant. Security there must be woefully lax, because not only is the pageant interrupted, but Akaash proceeds to hog the spotlight for an entire "rap" number. No one stops him. When he's finished, Rani, the reigning Bollywood movie queen (whose number he wrecked) is ready to sign him as her new co-star — his big break!
Adding to the scene's unlikeliness is the fact that Sachin Bhatt's Akaash, though energetic and likable enough, has nothing like the charismatic star power the other characters keep insisting he projects. His strutting and posturing, in his pageant-stopping turn and elsewhere, seem like stock imitations of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Yet he keeps eliciting such jaw-dropping assessments as "You're a firecracker, Akaash — I just lit the fuse." Puh-lease!
Once the trite tale sets Akaash on the path to stardom, he conceals his slum roots and turns his back on his friends, including loyal, eunuch buddy Sweetie, and even his dear old granny. Will Akaash see the error of his ways in time to save their slum from being bulldozed by a greedy developer? Will he choose egomaniacal sexpot Rani or idealistic, independent filmmaker Priya — who is herself in danger of marrying the cutthroat lawyer who pretends to be helping the slum-dwellers but is really in league with the developer?
The book (by Meera Syal and Thomas Meehan) can't seem to settle on a tone. Half the time, it aims for glib spoof. Typifying this is Kitty DeSouza, the Joan Rivers-like gossip maven of Bollywood (a preposterous cartoon, though amusingly enacted by Christine Toy Johnson). Carried away with fame, Akaash says things like "Ciao, baby!" When Akaash, rehearsing a love scene with Priya, finally gets it right, she echoes My Fair Lady: "By George, I think you've got it."
Even Sweetie, claiming to be Akaash's agent after the kid's break, turns wise guy when asked his name: "William Morris."
The rest of the time, the show's take on moviedom's behind-the-scenes back-stabbing and heartache seems informed chiefly by such Hollywood howlers as Valley of the Dolls and The Oscar. Hard-bitten veteran Rani spouts such gems as "I've survived in this snakepit for 15 years!" Paging Susan Hayward.
The show gains some genuine feeling with a dead-serious plot turn late in Act 2 — but lapses back for a cartoonishly cute resolution of the wedding-day showdown between hero and villain.
Top Indian film composer A.R. Rahman's music has its moments of authenticity and surges of feeling and melody in the better ballads such as Is This Love? and Hero. Yet the numbers lean heavily on repetition, too often lapsing into sound-alike pop wallpaper. Even the best tunes are not much helped by Black's lyrics, which are pedestrian at best, ridiculous at their Shakalaka Baby worst.
That production number is the show's signature "wet sari" routine, with the dancers cavorting in an onstage fountain to a jingly beat. Yes, it's eye-catchingly colorful and superficially exotic. Like all the show's production numbers, it's also long on spectacle, short on substance.
Bhatt's sturdy-voiced Akaash is more palatable in his later, chastened phase than the cocky posturing of his early scenes. His two leading ladies are quite good: sleek Sandra Allen as the spoiled-rotten Rani and Reshma Shetty as the serious-minded Priya. Aneesh Sheth has some moving scenes and sings expertly as the self-sacrificing Sweetie, hopelessly in love with Akaash.
Director Baayork Lee keeps it all moving, the story told in brisk, broad strokes. Lisa Stevens' choreography is lively and vividly performed, though the moves sometimes resemble aerobics routines. The production values are (inevitably) colorful and exotic.
Yet ultimately and overall, the show that promised a genuine Indian feast settles for curry-flavored bubble gum.
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