The Overcoat, a well-loved short story by Nikolai Gogol, is a fable of corruption and vanity – or maybe human desire (it’s been long up for interpretation).
When a humble man must starve and sell all of his possessions to buy a fine new coat, he becomes obsessed with the social capital it affords him. He’s terrified to lose it, and when he does, things go rapidly downhill.
The story is considered a masterwork of literature; a Russian author (no one can quite nail it down, but it might have Turgenev) once said that “we all came out of Gogol’s overcoat.” And now, downstairs at Belvoir St Theatre for its 25A independent program, The Overcoat has been transformed into a musical. Composed by Rosemarie Costi and written by Michael Costi, the story has become an understated, experimental piece of musical theatre.
The man at the heart of the story – name changed here from everyman-ish Akaky to the more currently accessible Nikolai – works as a copyist for a Russian government department. He’s opted out of the regiment that surrounds him; he finds genuine enjoyment in his work. He’s isolated, but it’s hard to tell if he enjoys that or not. Played here with sleepy eyes and a gentle, pleasant singing voice by Charles Wu, he is a man without much complaint. Until he accidentally shreds his threadbare coat.
With a small, absurdly talented cast taking on a multitude of roles, The Overcoat is cannily cast and beautifully sung. Laura Bunting’s haunting voice seems perfect in this world, supple as she darts between playing a government official, a tailor’s wife, and more. Kate Cheel brings distinct energy and human quirks to her parts, particularly a government official and Karolina the landlady. Aaron Tsindos is varying levels of unhinged as another government official and Petrovich the tailor, along with a handful of other roles.
But the musical rests on Wu’s slight shoulders, and he is easy to watch and root for: he shuffles through the world unseen until his new and glorious suit changes his bearing. He looks handsome; he looks smart; he is a walking work of art. Soon, the soft-spoken Nikolai has located his yelling voice.
The Overcoat is a musical allegory with a silent film aesthetic – a sepia-toned projection lets us know where, and when, we are. But under the direction of Constantine Costi, who also created the work alongside the other two Costis, it’s oddly paced: the setup feels both rushed and too long, and his downfall feels abrupt.
This is largely because of the shape and structure of the music. Because The Overcoat’s is a famously meandering, stylistically mutable voice, the Costis have shaped their adaptation around what they believe to be a kindred form of music: jazz.
This both does and doesn’t work. Jazz and musical theatre storytelling don’t always mix; where the saxophone carries the melody and often the emotion of a jazz piece to set its tone, acting like a voice, musical theatre generally operates under the principle that a human voice lifts in song when speech is no longer enough. Here, the music speaks more than Wu’s Nikolai and its sax does the heavy emotional lifting; that there is no song giving human, first-person voice to his internal thoughts feels like a real loss. Still, the music is beautiful and feels organic and unforced, a rare thing for a new musical. But it does meander, and it does integrate with the book at odd moments; some more distinct musical storytelling choices, with additional vocal repertoire, especially for Nikolai, could elevate this piece into something remarkable.
But then, some shows don’t want to show their hearts and ask we apply our minds instead, and The Overcoat does well with this – but its disconnect doesn’t feel deliberate; it feels unintentional. The score is so full of emotion that just a few more lyrics could have broken us open and carried us away.