In American director Gordon Greenberg’s charming production of Joseph Stein and Stephen Schwartz’s 1989 musical there’s a lot more to ‘The Baker’s Wife’ than ‘Meadowlark’, its best-known song. For one thing, there’s a whole village in 1930s Provence seemingly addicted to bread. They’re practically salivating by the time the new baker, Amiable (Clive Rowe), arrives. This is followed by gossip about how much younger his wife, Genevieve (Lucie Jones) is. She quickly catches the eye of local heartthrob Dominique (Joaquin Pedro Valdes) and scandal among the sleepy café tables ensues.
Musical theatre veteran Rowe lives up to his character’s name, projecting an irresistible amount of naïve geniality, happily oblivious to the sniggering of the villagers. He also stirs in an enjoyably chaotic energy after the interval and delivers a speech about love with a beautifully judged quietness that cuts through the ‘Allo ‘Allo-ness of it all – piercing our hearts as much as those of the humbled townsfolk. Jones, meanwhile, conveys the dilemma of Genevieve’s situation: her affection for her husband but also her yearning for more in a tiny, self-absorbed village.
Jones also gives full weight to Genevieve’s watershed moment, the aforementioned ‘Meadowlark’, building up the poignancy of this gorgeous ode to choosing between duty and desire. It’s a story embedded in a story, both anchoring the character for the audience and setting her free. However, it’s not all ballads. Some of the best songs are when Schwartz’s lyrics – frequently funny – bounce along to a sprightly score that complements the light touch and gentle wink of Joseph Stein’s book.
This particular show also benefits from director-of-musicals extraordinaire Greenberg’s in-depth familiarity with it, having previously directed a critically acclaimed U.S. revival in 2005. Crucially, he understands that romance is only one strand of the story and that perhaps the most important ‘character’ is the village itself. That’s where this production truly rises to the occasion. From the staging – which sits us on either side of designer Paul Farnsworth’s rustic French fantasia – to the way some scenes play out amidst us, we’re always brought up close to the supporting characters.
From Matthew Seadon-Young’s uptight Priest, to Mark Extance’s puffed-up teacher, to Michael Matus’s lascivious Marquis, the exceptional ensemble cast sketch in the archetypal proportions of the villagers with assured comedy vividness. As Denise, the café owner’s long-suffering wife, Josefina Gabrielle delivers putdowns with sweet precision. And it’s extremely satisfying to see Finty Williams’ Hortense finally tell her awful husband where to go. Possibly the standout is David Seadon-Young (yes, it’s a family affair) as baffled drunkard Antoine, whose comic timing is a chef’s kiss of clownish buffoonery.
