My Fair Lady

In 1912, playwright George Bernard Shaw transformed the Greek myth of Pygmalion—about a sculptor who swoons for a woman he carves from stone—into the tale of London phonetics professor Henry Higgins, who molds a high-class love interest from lowly street vendor Eliza Doolittle. In 1956, the legend found itself transformed again into this glossiest of Broadway musicals. The creation myth’s themes resonate unappetizingly in Lerner and Loewe’s version: The impoverished Eliza is, in Higgins’s words, just a lowly “creature,” until the cultivated English diction he imparts imbues her with a “soul.” Poverty here isn’t a social standing but a physical morphology. Only Higgins (like Pygmalion) can forge a suitable woman from subhuman raw materials. My Fair Lady satirizes Higgins’s self-appointed duties, but barely.

Overlook these qualms, and Lady’s undeniably delightful—if only because it’s quickly clear Eliza will evolve to Higgins’s satisfaction. The piece features several gorgeous numbers, all laudably performed by Light Opera Works’ dazzling 28-piece orchestra (under Roger Bingaman’s direction). The staging is utilitarian, with unobtrusive blocking and unadorned flats. Lady doesn’t demand frills, however, when anchored by an open-faced Eliza (Ford) and an effete but invigoratingly athletic Henry (Sandys). MacMullen’s Freddie, who woos Eliza unsuccessfully with the tear-jerking ballad “On the Street Where You Live,” exploits his 15 minutes onstage to perfection, a satiating taste of a more tender love story that Lady isn’t.

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