Pretty good Grease

Grease (The Original), by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey, directed by Peter Jorgensen, at Studio 58, Langara College, until Feb. 23, 2014. Buy Tickets.

Doody played by Erik Gow (with guitar) and Danny played by Markain Tarasiuk in the Studio 58 production of The Original GREASE, onstage to Feb. 23 at Langara College. Photo by David Cooper

“I liked The Original Grease,” said Jacob, oddly enthusiastic about a musical I thought he’d find dreary. He had just seen a production by the students at Langara’s Studio 58 and we were enjoying one of the themed lunches he occasionally demands after he’s seen a show. Burgers and fries.

“You liked Grease?” I asked, astonished. Jacob like Sondheim and Guys and Dolls. He’d even written a few flops himself (or so I discerned from cryptic conversations). But Grease?

“It’s the original Grease,” said Jacob, correcting me. “A recreation of the 1971 stage production, which means it is true to the original concept and even carries some historical significance. I like that. Still, it’s not art.” he said. “But I liked the show. And Studio 58 does a good job in a small space. They programmed a second-rate show with a first-rate director. Peter Jorgensen’s production is vulgar and staged with an overstated sexual bravado. And he has those kids running around the set with an organized energy that exhausted me. In a good way.”

“Would you pass the ketchup?” I asked. We were we eating take-out burgers and fries that he had insisted I bring to our Grease discussion. He poured the ketchup all over his own fries.

“Singing’s not so great,” he said. “But the show has some highlights, especially Chirag Naik on “Mooning” and Erik Gow on “Those Magic Changes.” Also,  Julie Leung‘s comic performance as the obnoxious Patty Simcox is key to the production’s success. Also, I’ll give this to Markian Tarasiuk’s singing as Danny: His voice is not bad and he can really sell a song. He manages to make “Alone at a Drive-In Movie” work. In fact all these kids, regardless of singing ability, really sell. Nice work by Peter and his musical director Courtenay Ennis.”

I told him I imagined he’d consider the show cheap nostalgia.

“Not at all,” said Jacob. “It’s no masterpiece. It’s no Hair or Jesus Christ Superstar, but there’s a certain charm to its unpolished attempt to portray the sexual frustrations of high- school students. It’s quite alive and disarming. I like the simple story and the derivative songs. I like the energy.”

He ignored his burger and my requests for the ketchup.

“I saw the film version,” I said, “and­ …” He cut me off.

“Doesn’t count,” said Jacob, dipping one fry after the other into a pool of ketchup and eating them. “Movie’s different, redesigned for that Travolta character and an Australian Sandy who looks about 30 years old.  The stage version’s an ensemble piece and works much better.” He looked at me quizically. “You don’t want ketchup?” I abandoned the ketchup drama and asked how he remembered the 1950s himself, when he was a teenager.

“In the ’50s, I was practicing piano six hours a day,” he said. “By 1959 it was eight hours a day. I never had a hamburger until I was on faculty at McGill and I had no choice but to eat one or pass out. I should have passed out. I hate these hot, greasy sandwiches.”

“You ordered them for today,” I said.

“Only for thematic reasons,” he said. “You can toss this.” He indicated the burger he was leaving on his plate. He rose to leave the room.

“I’ll be working on the songs all day tomorrow,” he said. I took this as a reference to Anna Karenina, a musical he was helping to write. “The Russian musical again?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he responded. “This is something else.” And then he was gone.