At its best, Sting’s score is pre-Sondheim. But it’s good pre-Sondheim. Too bad John Logan and Brian Yorkey’s book about a boat doesn’t float
Everybody on stage in “The Last Ship” is pissed off at somebody. The young hero Gideon is angry with his father for keeping him stuck in Newgate, England, and his father is angry at Gideon for refusing to carry on the family tradition of being a ship builder, and girlfriend Meg is angry that Gideon’s leaving her to travel the world. Meanwhile, during the next 15 years (it’s a fast-moving musical), the townspeople are angry because the ship builder, Mr. Newlands, has closed shop, putting them out of work; and they flat-out reject his new job of reclaiming and repurposing industrial assets. Or as they put it, “junk and salvage.”
There’s more anger to come at the Neil Simon Theatre, where “The Last Ship” opened Sunday. Gideon never knew that Meg bore him a son, and the kid is now pissed off that his dad has been absent for the last 15 years.
In this brew of wrath and discontent, I identified most with Mr. Newlands (Eric Anderson in a cameo). He speaks the truth – shipbuilding in Newcastle isn’t ready for a comeback — and he offers people jobs recycling. Mr. Newlands is practical.
But musicals aren’t about being practical. They’re about dreams. Enter Father O’Brien (a cuddly, foul-mouth Fred Applegate), who is the only character who’s not angry even though he’s dying of cancer before the year’s out. He gives the townspeople hope: He will divert money earmarked for a church and put the cash into building one last ship. There’s no pay, but they’ll have the dignity of work. Amen.
…
That’s the big surprise of Sting‘s score. At its best, it’s pre-Sondheim. But it’s good pre-Sondheim, maybe great despite a few “Stomp”-with-overtones-of “Riverdance” numbers for that heavy-stepping, hard-drinking chorus of workers and townspeople.
“The Last Ship” is a classic example of a good score being set adrift by an ill-conceived book.