At last, the second coming of the red-headed orphan with a saggy dog and empty eye sockets. The victory of a producing team that saw two Broadway-bound Annie sequels collapse under bad press and fraudulent funding. The continuation of a story that was essentially complete in its original form but, with the addition of a couple of juicy villains, can charm anew. There’s no denying the magic is gone, but Annie Warbucks pleases with its score, keeps us chuckling with its book, and leaves us not exactly cheering but grateful at least that the sun finally did come out tomorrow.
Unlike an earlier version of the sequel, in which the creators (Martin Charnin, Charles Strouse, and Thomas Meehan) made conscious efforts to outdo the original--to the point of fashioning the story into “Miss Hannigan’s Revenge,” Annie Warbucks gives the audience what it wants: Daddy, Annie, and the pooch (the adorable Cindy Lou). In fact, we catch them at the very end of Annie I, rejoicing around the Christmas tree. In bursts Commissioner Doyle (Alene Robertson), informing Warbucks that unless he finds a wife quickly, he has to give Annie back to the orphanage. That sends the billionaire on a spouse hunt and into the arms of a sweet clerk (Donna McKechnie), whose Irish lullabies and tenement memories are just a little bit too perfect. Luckily, there’s the plucky, pretty Grace Farrell (Marguerite MacIntyre) to help bring Daddy Warbucks to his senses.
Thomas Meehan’s book has a fair quantity of chuckles and only a few hard-to-swallow turns (Annie, running away, thinks her father will be happier without her around; the revelation of who’s the true evil mastermind).
A detour that brings Annie to an impoverished but loving southern family affords Meehan some tolerable soapboxing on the rich helping the poor--not to mention giving the family (Harvey Evans, Molly Scott, and Jackie Angelescu) a chance to cut a fun rug on the Warbucks’s yacht.
Though there isn’t that much dancing in Annie Warbucks, the Charnin/Strouse score compensates with a dozen peppy tunes. No, there’s no real showstopper (the authors’ attempt to pen another “Tomorrow” results in the generic “Love”), but “Leave it to the Girls” makes a sly duet for Alene Robertson and Donna McKechnie, and Ms. McIntyre gets a lovely ballad in “It Would have been Wonderful.”
If, in praising Annie Warbucks, I keep coming back to the supporting cast and dodging the leads, it’s because a better Annie and Daddy might push the show from merely pleasing to downright winning.
Harve Presnell can be commanding, but his facial expressions are too often mechanical, and his pipes don’t do justice to the fine torch song he colorlessly delivers, “A Younger Man.”
Worse is the girl in the red moptop. It’s hard to believe that after all those well-publicized auditions, the best Annie the producers could come up with is Kathryn Zaremba, who’s cute and projects very well but can be awfully mannered and has a grating--sometimes off-key--singing voice. Compare her to fellow orphan Natalia Harris who, though too old and tall for the lead, shines with every sung or spoken line.
Theoni V. Aldredge’s witty costumes excepted, Annie Warbucks has an underfunded, off-Broadway feel to it.
An early song in Warbucks runs, “Annie isn’t Annie Anymore,” as if to push the point that we need to let go of our pre-conditions and accept the sequel on its own terms. If, even after all this trial and error, the writers haven’t come up with anything to match their original concept--an idea they themselves couldn’t exorcise--at least they haven’t betrayed or otherwise deconstructed what made the first Annie such a charmer: playful songs, farcical villainy, and a moppet, a Midas, and a mongrel.
