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This may be the only show on Broadway that took a thorough drubbing by the critics, underwent a complete rewrite, kept right on playing while revisions were tried out in rehearsal, closed down for a week, then had a grand reopening night — and received another drubbing, just not as vicious as the first. Frank Wildhorn's adventure/romance is about English nobleman Percy Blakeney, who, disguised as the Scarlet Pimpernel, sails to France — a lot so it seems — to save the unfortunate from the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution. It was adapted from Baroness Orczy's popular novel and play. The original is a natural for the musical treatment, but maybe not as much as Wildhorn slathers on. Every time someone stops in this breathless yarn, you know there's going to be a heart-wrenching, lung-busting song. It's all too much the same, which causes the smaller, less intrusive numbers to pop out and shine: opening "Storybook," a lovely set piece that captures the sentiment of the entire show; "The Creation of Man," in which Percy and his loyal band of do-gooders comically decide to out-fop the fops to deflect suspicion; and "Into the Fire," a stirring, manly anthem that could easily slot right into Les Miz. Actually, much of this show could slot into Les Miz, which is part of its problem — Pimpernel has no distinctive voice of its own. Yet it doesn't matter, because The Scarlet Pimpernel still manages to be lots of fun. Buoyed by Masquerade Theatre's ardent, tonally rich cast (Luther Chakurian, Kristina Sullivan and Ilich Guardiola, among others) and sumptuous production, the show's full of campy daring, a lecherous villain, a damsel in distress, duels and even a guillotining. Now, that's a musical!
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