I nspired by the Old Testament "Book of Esther," The Book of Candy is author Susan Dworkin's contemporary spin on the story of Queen Esther, a Jewess, who, in order to save the lives of her people, becomes the anti Semitic King of Persia's most trusted and beloved concubine. If the result, taken from Dworkin's own novel of the same name, is a bit labored and unwieldy, it is also an entertaining and topical consideration of current mores in the light of ancient history and biblical lore.
Staged as if it were being presented to a congregation in a Synagogue (a simple but handsome setting designed by Richard Turick) as a traditional Purimspiel, The Book of Candy is an almost through-sung chronicle of Long Island Jewish American Princess Candy Shapiro and her unwitting rise to power as a Mafia Queen. Mel Marvin's (Tintypes, Yentl, A History of the American Film) eclectic score nicely supports and propels the action with a concentration on Jewish-accented themes. With high-minded determination and a Hora, Candy is forced, after a lifetime of token liberation, to sacrifice her own dreams in order to save the lives of her neighbors and loved ones. The play-within-a-play musical unfolds in sketchy yet lively episodic fashion. The cast (most of whom are assigned multiple roles) are seated in a row of chairs and move into action as called upon by the text (think Hal Prince's staging of Zorba).
Enhanced by klezmer-styled orchestrations, Ahvi Spindell's fluid direction, and some effectively unpretentious choreography, The Book of Candy moves buoyantly, if a little chaotically, through four decades and about four hundred crises.
As offered in a ritualistic pageant-like format, the musical confronts and dallies, with a minimum of heavy handed pontificating and a myriad of social, moral and ethical issues. Lauren Mufson is persuasive, assertive and appealing in the title role of the educated woman who, growing up in Gimbels Inlet, Long Island, has been taught to follow her Jewish-American family's traditional ways and goals. That means being active with the Hadassah, shopping on Fifth Avenue, and marrying a doctor. Notwithstanding the constant advice of her mother (amusingly played by Beth Glover), Candy grows up, against the better judgment of everyone around her, as an independent thinker and political activist. Although Candy is obliged to ignore and tolerate her husband's (Adam Heller) constant philandering, to find meaning in the death of one brother and the estrangement of another, she finds her métier eventually in politics assisting a Bella Abzug-like character (Connie Day).
When Candy discovers a warehouse of weapons being sold to the highest bidder, her life and the lives of others become endangered. Candy resolves to seek help from Orpheo (Martin Vidnovic), a Mafia-connected casino kingpin and mercenary, who has been a long-time family friend. Candy's resolve to leave her husband and become Orpheo's mistress leads to the play's somewhat problematic and inconclusive denouement. Candy's affair with an Israeli moving man (Ted Grayson), whose homeland restaurant is blown up by terrorists, and the doctor's romantic trysts are digressive but engaging, a clue that there are too many sub-plots here.
The Book of Candy appears more earnestly in pursuit of an intellectual purposefulness than it is in illuminating the emotional side of its characters. One might argue that the characters are more shadows and archetypes rather than three-dimensional, but the format and structure of the musical generally supports this superficial approach. Fine ensemble acting and singing are a plus. The show, a co-production of Playwrights Theater of N.J. and Trenton's Passage Theater, may not have the grit and savvy for the big time. But with some judicious pruning and a little re structuring, it does have the potential to become a viable item for touring and regional theaters.
