Inspired by the Depression-era comic strip “Little Orphan Annie,” the 1977 musical “Annie” has always been defined by shiny optimism and soaring money notes. Both come through in torrents in the show’s most recent revival, which heads to Madison Square Garden and then a national tour following its stint through Dec. 1 at the Chicago Theatre.
As it follows the wholesome adventures of the titular orphan in 1933 New York City, “Annie” is a feel-good, deeply romanticized tale of a plucky little girl who charms billionaires and the homeless with equal panache.
You know from the iconic opening notes — a solo horn, sending the opening volley of “Tomorrow” over the audience — that everything will end in coziness, warmth and safety for Little Orphan Annie. That’s a tale that perhaps a lot of people want to hear right now. But Charles Strouse’s delightful, Tony Award-winning score aside, “Annie” has no depth behind its glossy, comforting surface.
Directed by Jenn Thompson, “Annie” is rock-solid in its commitment to the comic’s rosy take on orphanages, homeless encampments and the U.S. of A. as a place where billionaires (in this case, industrialist Oliver Warbucks) are so powerful, the FBI and the president both do their bidding on command.
On a set framed by the Brooklyn Bridge (wonderful work by scenic designer Wilson Chin) “Annie” begins with the titular heroine (Hazel Vogel) in the orphanage, caring for the younger girls while navigating the endless demands of the orphanage’s headmistress, the boozy slattern Miss Hannigan (Stephanie Londino, finding endless comedy in floozy desperation). After running away to a campfire stew dinner with a crew of kindly homeless folks, Annie is returned to the orphanage by a cop who also sweeps the encampment of its people and their belongings.
Annie gets a second chance at escape when Oliver Warbucks’ (Christopher Swan) private secretary Grace Farrell (Julie Nicole Hunter) shows up, announcing that she’ll be selecting an orphan to spend the holidays with the billionaire in his mansion of servants. Annie is immediately whisked off to a world of untold luxury and power. It’s a world that’s vanishing the moment she steps into it — two weeks, and straight back to poverty is the original deal Warbucks offers — but nobody mentions that.
There are showstoppers aplenty, easy on the ears and eyes thanks in part, respectively, to a marvelous live orchestra conducted by Andrew David Sotomeyer and choreographer Patricia Wilcox. “Tomorrow” is the first of them, and Vogel has the voice and the presence to get the job done. When she vaults through the key change, the hope is palpable.
The enthusiastic, yearning idealism of “Tomorrow” is in sharp contrast with the next number. “We’d Like to Thank You Herbert Hoover,” has a crew of impoverished, raggedy residents of a “Hooverville” tent camp sarcastically thanking Roosevelt’s predecessor for their circumstances. In a reference to Hoover’s run for office, Marvin Charmin’s lyrics shine through: “They offered us Al Smith and Hoover/We paid attention and we chose/Not only did we pay attention/We paid through the nose.” It’s a handful of words that provides a snapshot of political history that will likely resonate for years into the future.
Wilcox’s choreography delivers one gem after another. The percussive stomping of “It’s the Hard Knock Life” is an all-orphan banger. Also outstanding is the sleaze-tastic “Easy Street,” featuring Rhett Guter as Miss Hannigan’s con-artist brother Rooster and Isabella De Souza Moore as Rooster’s ditzy flapper girlfriend, Lily St. Regis. Guter, who worked extensively in Chicago earlier in the century, remains a mesmerizing dancer, moving with the grace of an alley cat and the charisma of a vaudeville star. He also makes a switchblade vanish into thin air at one point.
Dressed by costume designer Alejo Vietti in shades of maternal blue throughout, Hunter makes Grace all sweetness and smiles. Swan’s Warbucks does the comic strip justice: He exudes benevolence, albeit not until the Great Depression hits his own factories and he decides the Depression has gone on too long. Late in the second act, Warbucks, Annie, Roosevelt (Mark Woodard) and Roosevelt’s cabinet find the inspiration to solve the Depression while singing “Tomorrow.” As they sing and discuss, a massive American flag looms behind them. It’s feel-good nationalism at its finest. It looks and sounds terrific.
In the world of “Annie,” singing a few refrains of “the sun’ll come out tomorrow” and a cheery can-do outlook is all one needs to thrive.
Using newspapers for blankets? Can’t afford groceries? Worried about war? Don’t you fret. The sun will come out. Tomorrow.