In reviewing last year's Fringe Festival production of Walmartopia, I described the satirical musical that mixed silly fun with the serious labor issues faced by employees of Wal-Mart as lying "somewhere between The Pajama Game and The Cradle Will Rock, just to the right of Urinetown." After substantial rewrites, complete recasting, the hiring of a new production team and the cutting of the show's best song, the new Off-Broadway version of Walmartopia that opened at the Minetta Lane Theatre last night would be more accurately described as lying somewhere between bland and witless, just to the right of dull.
With book, music and lyrics by Catherine Capellaro and Andrew Rohn, the show had its problems at the Fringe -- mostly the typical second act troubles that tend to doom many promising musicals -- but it also had bite, spirit and, in its best moments, an invigorating sense of grass roots political theatre. Director Daniel Goldstein's production retains none of the enjoyable amateur theatrics that gave the material an authentic feel and instead mounts the show with the kind of plastic, mass-produced professionalism that you might find stacked on the shelves of Wal-Mart if they had a musical comedy department. David Korin's colorful set and Leah Gelpe's 3-D projections provide a background of sky high shelves for a collection of present day and futuristic locations sliding in and out and Miranda Hoffman's costumes and Erin Kennedy Lunsford's wigs impressively transform the cast of eleven into a variety of characters with humor and speed, but the attractive production and the revised book and score -- stripped of its angrier edges and soaked heavily in clichéd sentiment -- makes Walmartopia blend into memories of countless other competently produced but ultimately uninspired attempts at musical comedy.
The story remains the same. Wisconsin mother Vicki (Cheryl Freeman) has been working at Wal-Mart for five years and despite her full-time hours cannot afford the company's health plan. Thinking she's on the edge of being promoted into management, she makes no complaints about abusive superiors, less experienced men advancing before her, business meetings held at Hooters and having to participate in the 
degrading morning cheer. Not being able to afford a home on her low wages, she and her teenage daughter Maia (Nikki M. James), a Wal-Mart summer employee, live in a cheap motel.
Facing an abundance of sex discrimination claims, the corporate boys try and boost the company's image by producing a Wal-Mart musical where a spokeswoman will be chosen from its all-employee cast. (The arch humor of a scene where contestants dressed in red gowns and sashes sing "A Woman's Place (Is At Wal-Mart)" is undermined by the inclusion of cross-dressing men getting cheap laughs.) When Vickie is chosen as spokes model, she tries to use the opportunity to express her grievances to the disembodied head of company founder Sam Walton (Scotty Watson, playing a role that's a classic example of "a bad idea gone wrong"), but instead she and Maia are tossed into a time machine and sent thirty years into the future (Didn't see that one coming, did ya?) where Wal-Mart runs the entire world except for the rebel state of Vermont. (In 2004 Vermont declared itself a "historic preservation zone" in order to stop Wal-Mart from increasing its presence.) The second act has the two of them joining a Wal-Mart controlled acting troupe and a plot to interrupt a televised propaganda drama to denounce the company's life-sucking business practices.
The cast works nobly, though two actors in particular seem to have been instructed to make funny faces at the audience as a substitute for actual jokes. Freeman lacks fire as the mom fighting for respect while James is spunky and energetic in a role that gives her little to do. Both are far more interesting when singing, but their bluesy, pop-gospel ballads are loaded with Hallmark poetry. In "Baby Girl," the mother sings, "I see a day/When You and I can run and play/Holding hands like girlfriends do/ I never have enough time with you," and the daughter replies, "Mama, you know/I'm not a baby anymore/I look at the open sky/And I know I've got to fly."
Reliable character man John Jellison, with his rich baritone and sharp comic skills, rises above his material as a power-mad CEO, as does Stephen DeRosa as an eccentric scientist and an air-headed actor. Watching these two seasoned pros make like a well-oiled vaudeville team in their first act song and dance is by far the best Walmatopia has to offer.
Photos by Carol Rosegg: (top) Cheryl Freeman and Nikki M. James; (center) The Company; (bottom, clockwise from top left) Sarah Bolt, Cheryl Freeman, Nikki M. James, Pearl Sun, Brennen Leath and Heléne Yorke
