HiFi

The book that became a film that became theatre

08/26/2009 10:00 PM

By MELISSA ALBERT
Contributing Reporter

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Stef Tovar (Rob) stars in the Chicago premiere of “High Fidelity” presented by The Route 66 Theatre Company through October 11, 2009 at Pipers Alley Theater, 1608 N. Wells Street. Courtesy JOHNNY KNIGHT

The challenge of transforming a movie about music snobs—based on Nick Hornby’s book about music snobs—into musical theatre is a peculiar one.

If “High Fidelity” had stayed true to its source material, it would sound a lot more like a 1960s Swedish garage band and a lot less like a rush hour radio station. But Hornby’s sharp misanthropy, so well-played in the film, is lost in translation here. The musical has charm to spare, but it struggles under the opposing goals of adherence to the source material and accessibility to an uninitiated audience.

Rob (Stef Tovar), owner of the snotty Championship Vinyl, is a schlub who’s just been left by his high-achieving girlfriend, Laura (Tricia Small). Newly single, he’s haunted by the ghosts of girlfriends past, as well as by the specter of Laura’s new boyfriend, a New Age nightmare named Ian (Michael Webber).

The chorus of girlfriends provides the better numbers, such as “Number Five With a Bullet,” featuring the sexy leather-clad Laura of Rob’s dreams, and “She Goes,” led by Liz (the wonderful Dana Tretta), Laura’s friend and Rob’s self-appointed conscience.

In a move copped from the 2000 film, Tovar’s Rob spends much of the play addressing the audience directly, veering between bravado and self-deprecation. But Tovar gives the role a blithe jock-like quality at odds with his status as king of the nerds. He’s better when vulnerable, as in his scenes with Laura in the more downbeat second act.

Basing a musical on a movie is a risk that can work: the two genres are far enough removed from each other to make room for originality. But “High Fidelity’s” relation to the film sits weirdly between inspiration and straight re-creation. At times the production outpaces its cinematic source entirely, through a song number or inspired characterization—in particular, The Most Pathetic Man in the World (Derek Hasenstab), a nicely understated character lifted from Hornby’s book.

And the theatre-specific fluidity with which the actors become the floor band and vice versa is a joy. But often the flow is undermined by an eerily familiar delivery or bit of staging, and there are a few uncomfortable moments of beat-for-beat reproduction of the film.

This is the first staging of “High Fidelity” since its brief and roundly panned Broadway run in 2006, and Tovar, star as well as artistic director of the production (the debut of his Route 66 Theatre Company), has the right idea scaling it back to its current size. Despite largely forgettable songs, the actors’ enthusiasm fills the space.


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