My Own Take: Stephen Sondheim's Final Musical -- "Here We Are"

The show: “Here We Are” at The Shed at Hudson Yards in New York City

When it was announced nearly 10 years ago that Stephen Sondheim would be collaborating with playwright David Ives on a new musical based on two surreal films by Luis Buñuel: 1972’s playful “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie” and 1962’s dark “The Exterminating Angel,” I thought: “What?”

Not that Ives and Sondheim aren’t right for each other. (They so are in many not-so-puzzling, time tripping ways.) But after viewing the two films I thought, “How own earth would they make these two very different films into a stage musical?”

It was a challenge that apparently the two theater artists grappled with over the decade. But like two gamers intent on solving a complex puzzle, they finally found a solution (with the help of director Joe Mantello). Or at least a partial and imperfect solution — but a kind of a solution none-the-less. It’s one of my favorite shows of the year, flaws and all — and I’m going back before it closes on Jan. 21.

It’s been a long and circuitous journey (not unlike the traveling band of elitists in “The Discreet Charm…”) And it looked like for a long while this work-in-stalled-progress wasn’t going to happen at all. But shortly before he died in November of 2021 at the age of 91, Sondheim announced — following a read-through of the much delayed work-in-progress — that he and Ives had a version that was moving ahead towards a production. (Mantello was instrumental in jump-starting the project.)

Though I couldn't imagine a coherent musical out of the films at that time, there was still something about the subject matter that felt right for a new Sondheim show (and yes, for an Ives show, too.). There was a sense of structural symmetry to the pairing of the films, shot a decade apart. One storyline dealt with a group of people in search of a meal that never materializes; the other a group find itself trapped in a room following a meal.

The show’s creators smartly made the two groups of people in both films the same, and united the two sections with a kind of stylistic symmetry. (It also brought to mind several Sondheim/Lapine works where the first act and the second tell quite separate stories yet still speak to each other: “Sunday in the Park With George” “ and “Into the Woods.” The narrative of a group of folks on a quest that then turns dark also reminded me of “Into the Woods.” (Like the title ditty from “Into the Woods,” there an infectious vamp here, too,)

This new show also dealt with subjects and themes familiar with the Sondheim canon: privileged friends, class and status, urbane intellect, blithe corruption, amoral actions, romantic rondelays, among them. But the world of the surreal, satirical and symbolic was relatively new territory for the composer as he entered his 90s (though Assassins” did exist on its own separate plane of reality.)

Still, this work and its production felt fresh, daring, and (at least the first half) frisky.

The cast is as perfect an ensemble of sublime performances as you could possibly wish for. In the first half we first meet Leo (Bobby Cannavale), a brash oligarch and his slightly loopy wife Marianne (a delightful and adorable Rachel Bay Jones.) Then the doorbell rings. Company. Friends have arrived expecting brunch— to the couple’s surprise. But not to worry, these perfect hosts will find a spot somewhere to dine. And Marianne need not change out of her silk peignoir, or Leo his sweatsuit, either. After all, they are powerful one-percenters and doors open wide for them no matter what they wear.

Making up the unexpected guests are Raffael (Steven Pasquale), a libidinous ambassador; plastic surgeon Paul (Jeremy Shamos); and his power-agent wife, Claudia (Amber Gray). Not quite fitting in is Marianne’s sister, Fritz (Micaela Diamond), a trust fund sulker who’s a revolutionary wannabe.

But wherever they go it’s the same: Sorry, there’s no food, says the ever-present servant/waiter played with unctuous perfection by Denis O’Hare, who has one of the most delicious lyrics of the how: “We do expect a little latte later / But we haven’t got a lotta latte now.” Making up the rest of the servant class is a hysterically funny, brooding Tracie Bennett.

Along the group’s travels from cafe to cafe they come across a military officer (François Battiste) and a handsome lieutenant (Jin Ha), the latter who instantly falls for Fritz and vice versa. Their quest takes them to the home of a skittish bishop (David Hyde Pierce, a master of nuance) who is thinking of a change of careers. At the end of the first act they seem to have finally arrived a splendid table at Raphael’s embassy, and finally ready to feast on a meal to end all meals — literally. But conspicuous consumption comes at a cost.

The second act turns into “No Exit,” with the guests unable to step out of their setting. Here they are, trapped. But is it limbo, purgatory, or something else? There’s little in the way of songs to help guide us.

Mantello and Ives said that the scarcity of songs for the second act was intentional. And yes, there’s an intellectual case for the lack of music thematically — but emotionally it leaves one, well, hungry. Certainly the heightened emotions of the now-very-desperate characters could have easily burst into song. But whether because of death or delay, there’s a sene of absence here that isn’t quite satisfying.

I could imagine that if the composer lived to have seen the work in front of an audience, that he might find the inspiration to pen a few more numbers that would further musically deepen the second half. (There is one lovely song sung by Marianne, the only soulful and guileless character in the gang. Her scene with the kind and shoe-fetishy bishop offers a touch of grace when all seems lost and is one of the show’s highlights.

Much credit should be given to Mantello who has staged the piece with clockwork precision, energy and wit. Choreographer Sam Pinkleton, too, is a vital collaborator, using the specificity of movement to not only progress the action — in quirky stops and starts — but movement that reveal character, establish themes, and, in its own way, make it stylishly existential. Though there is no ‘dancing’ per se, it was my favorite choreography of the year.

David Zinn’s set design is spare, sleek and modern in their first half and rococo-rama in the second. (He also did the spot-on costumes.) Lighting design by Natasha Katz, sound design by Tom Gibbons, and especially orchestrations by Jonathan Tunick all make for a first-class production. (With very few songs in the second half, Tunick and Alexander Gemignani — veteran Sondheim musical collaborators — kept the musical flow going with effective underscoring.)

I left the show feeling that this is a perfect coda, if you will, to the composers career; who is once again trying something new, experimenting with form, while grappling with some big and ambiguous questions of life (and death) and purpose, and making it part of a mysterious continuum. While it speaks to the past, and offers rumble for the future, it’s most ever mindful of the present, as if to say, well, here we are. Deal.