The Baker’s Wife review – Stephen Schwartz’s lip-smacking musical has a soggy derriere
Life should be sweet as our asparagus and apricots, sigh the inhabitants of this Provençal backwater. But they lack a baker, and a French village without fresh bread is like an eclair without its cream.
It isn’t the only worry in the ironically named Concord, a community of the fretful middle-aged with their petty feuds and squabblesome marriages. There’s a limit to what even the flakiest croissant can do to lift it, as becomes clear when master baker Aimable (Clive Rowe) arrives with crusty loaves, glossy pastries and his young wife, Genevieve (Lucie Jones).
Set in the 1930s, The Baker’s Wife is a cherished but problematic musical by Stephen Schwartz (Godspell, Wicked), with a book by Joseph Stein (who chronicled another volatile village in Fiddler on the Roof). Schwartz has tinkered with it for almost 50 years, but it suits a chamber staging. There’s a wistful lilt to much of the music, murmuring through the woodwind.
The villagers, rhyming “luscious” with “brioche is”, dance joyfully with the boules and baguettes (choreography by Matt Cole). Yet happiness feels as fragile as a mille-feuille. Marrying on the rebound, Genevieve hasn’t quite settled into her new life. She succumbs to an ardent young buck: for all Joaquin Pedro Valdes’s pneumatic high notes, he’s quite the creep. Genevieve has questions about her life, but is he the answer?
Gordon Greenberg’s affectionate production is soggy-bottomed in the weaker second half. Glazed in Paul Anderson’s yolk-gold lighting, the characterful ensemble includes Josefina Gabrielle’s knowing cafe owner and Finty Williams as a worm-turning wife: the musical’s unsatisfied women are far better company than their boorish menfolk, and cut loose in a tango.
Holding the story is the baker. Clive Rowe is built for optimism – round eyes shining with merriment, voice rich with adoration. It’s horrible to see him reduced to misery – the light leaves his eyes like an oven turned cold.
Memorable food films (Babette’s Feast, Ratatouille) often show killjoys transformed by scoff, horizons broadening as their bellies fill. This nostalgic musical is no classic, but it too shows hearts and minds sweetened by steady affection and our daily bread.
At the Menier Chocolate Factory, London, until 14 September
