“Hey, hobo man; hey, Dapper Dan — you’ve both got your style!” croons a man’s voice out of an old-fashioned console radio. The girls of the New York City Municipal Orphanage sing along, “But brother, you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”
Importantly, a smile on its own is not enough. You will also need to buy some clothes.
But for most people in Great Depression-era Manhattan, the cost of clothing — and everything else, for that matter — hurts. Enter “Annie,” the rags-to-riches musical that follows the titular orphan as she finds her way into the mansion and heart of billionaire Oliver Warbucks.
If you’ve seen the 1982 film, you know the rest — more or less. The stage musical, with music by Charles Strouse, lyrics by Martin Charnin and book by Thomas Meehan , boasts a wryer sense of humor and a more mature political conscience than its movie adaptation. All the more reason to get yourself to Berkeley Playhouse, where this all-around spectacular production opened last Friday.
Within the show’s huge and uniformly talented cast, the orphans are the main attraction. We owe it all to director and choreographer Megan McGrath, who has achieved the incredible feat of training two separate youth ensembles to play the orphans for alternate performances.
On opening night, an exuberant Tessie (Darci Siva) turned a one-handed cartwheel, while gentle Kate (Nora Farivar), cheerful Duffy (Mackenzie Paige Preisler) and thoughtful July (Chana Weintraub) mellowed out the group. Alice Song gave a standout performance as Molly, a tiny acrobat with a huge attitude.
Meanwhile, Miss Hannigan (Sarah Bylsma) staggers around the orphanage wielding a flask like a scepter and shouting orders which the girls mostly ignore. When her weird brother Rooster Hannigan (Liam Cody) arrives in town with a scheme to kidnap Annie — and, in the process, scam Warbucks out of 50,000 dollars — who’d blame her for hopping onboard?
Everyone, it turns out. We’re not supposed to cheer for the Hannigans, who have a little money and would like a little more. But we may cheer for “Daddy” Warbucks, who has a lot of money and would like a lot more. Don’t worry, we can trust him: he’s a “Daddy.”
To be fair, Brendan Simon plays Warbucks as the most likeable capitalist you can imagine, with his huge frame, melodious voice and tendency to become flustered by Annie’s sheer adorableness.
As Annie, ten-year-old Emma Jilizian dazzles. Confident and steady on her feet, with a clear, lovely voice, Jilizian’s rendition of “Maybe” — “Won’t you please come get your baby?” she sings softly to her absent parents — hits the audience right in the gut.
Jilizian equally holds her own in the Oval Office, where she leads former President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s cabinet in a rousing chorus of “Tomorrow,” tracing a tricky harmony line while the adults gaze at her in awe. A moment later, in a fun bit of revisionism, they invent the New Deal. Apparently, President Roosevelt (Adam Saville) is much quicker to grant the wishes of little girls than those of his voters.
Icky? A little. Yet this production is careful to acknowledge the unfairness of the world it dramatizes — Annie rescues a stray dog, but another pup goes to the pound; Miss Hannigan openly envies the advantages of Warbucks’s secretary Grace (Melinda Meeng); the same actors who depict the down-on-their-luck residents of a shantytown also depict Warbucks’ well-groomed, well-paid staff.
But even through a critical eye, the show looks gorgeous. Thanks to scenic designer Jenna Forder, the shantytown, all aglitter with shiny cookware and salvaged knick-knacks, is just as eye-catching as the Warbucks mansion. And sure, they’ve both got their style — but most of us would choose the mansion.
Better, too, to be Annie, who ends up with the richest man in the world for a father, rather than some other little girl. Cuteness pays dividends.
As for me, I’m rooting for Pepper (the fantastic Ellie Smith), a scrappy, overlooked orphan who can be spotted in a corner of the Warbucks mansion quietly making friends with the chief of police. This kid is on her way to the top — no Daddy required.