CAMELOT
You’ll learn nothing from the production of Camelot now playing at the Shubert Theatre. Groomed to suit the limitations of its star, Robert Goulet, this hackwork road show makes one long for the imperfect but adventurous My Fair Lady that played last month at the Chicago. That show was often disappointing–but at least it risked something.
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But the audience eats it up, sad to say; they laugh along when Goulet breaks character in a carefully rehearsed “ad-lib” to laugh at Valentine, thus proving he’s a regular guy, and they applaud the past-his-prime star because he’s the one they paid to see. Never mind that he spoke his final speech so fast that they didn’t quite catch it–the beautiful elegy about a few stars sparkling at the twilight of a dream and one visionary making a difference, rushed through here like directions to the nearest men’s room. Maybe it’s just as well; in 1993, perhaps the audience wouldn’t really get into sentiments like these even if they could hear them. Too corny; nobody really believes that stuff anymore, do they? Camelot is dead; long live Camelite.
