A Marxist parable performed at a black- tie event: Bertolt Brecht would ap prove of the irony. New York City Ballet’s spring gala Wednesday night featured a new production of “The Seven Deadly Sins,” originally made in 1933 with lyrics by Brecht and music by Kurt Weill, and now starring Broadway’s Patti LuPone. But the biggest irony of all is this version is solidly middle-of-the-road.
Brecht and Weill were highly political artists best-known for “The Threepenny Opera,” and this “sung ballet” is more of an opera in motion. The plot is a mythical tour of the United States — seven years, seven cities, seven sins. There are two heroines, both named Anna: one who sings (LuPone) and one who dances (Wendy Whelan).
It’s unclear if they’re sisters or different aspects of the same woman. They leave Louisiana to make money for a home for their family — played by a male quartet. Mom is a big, thundering bass, and all four berate the Annas to send more dough.
The seven sins are also ironic. Wrath’s lesson, for example, is that if you object to injustice, you’ll get squashed. At the end, their family is waiting for them in their little home — which is a mansion. LuPone’s wearing a fur, but Whelan’s collapsed from exhaustion.
The company needed a box-office draw, and they got one with LuPone. She fills the house in a star turn as she belts out the lyrics. Though Whelan’s part is just as large, she doesn’t have the same presence. She’s at her best in intense roles, not as a frail, exploited victim. It’s yet another irony to see spidery-thin Whelan told during Gluttony, “Gaining half an ounce means trouble . . . there’s no market for hippos in Philadelphia.”
Choreographer and director Lynne Taylor-Corbett has worked in film (“Footloose”) and on Broadway. She handles this like a Broadway assignment, and the dancing takes a back seat to the singing. It’s handsome, fast-paced and she’s a good traffic cop.
It feels a lot shorter than its 38 minutes.
But even though it’s tightly made, there’s something missing amid all the competence — risk. What’s the point of Marxist theater that plays it safe?