As a young man I received a copy of the Sunday in the Park with George album and it was love at first listen.  I was still in high school and living in St. Petersburg, FL.  I had never seen the show and I am not sure how I even heard about the Stephen Sondheim musical, but our paths had crossed and I was completely head over heels for the sounds of Bernadette Peters and Mandy Patinkin singing that luminous score.  Find anyone who knew me back then and they will tell you that I had a rather strong obsession.  I would listen to that record all the time.  I had gleamed the major elements of the story from the album jacket or a handy insert (I can't remember really) and created the entire thing inside my head.  I learned that the show was about painter George Seurat during the time at which he was painting "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" and a (fictionalized) love affair he was having with his model Dot.  I could vividly imagine Peters singing the opening number in her bustled dress, I could visualize Patinkin painting his giant canvas, in my head I moved around the card board cut outs of the different sections of the painting as live actors interacted with them and I saw in my mind's eye the entire break up scene as Peters sobbed through her performance of "Move On".  If you were to successfully find one of those who knew me then they would tell you that I was particularly fixated on one line in which you can hear Peters is almost unable to sing she is crying so much.  Oh, I was hooked.  I would listen to the album in all its glory and bawl.  I was a total music theater geek.

Now keep in mind.  I never saw the show.  When it was announced that PBS would air a taped version of the show. I was in heaven.  I made plans with my friend Susan Sheppard to watch the show at my house.  However, when we arrived home (with great anticipation) I found my sister watching Dallas (DALLAS!!! Come on!!!) and refusing to switch channels.  Our fight escalated to the point where I slammed a potted plant into a glass table (the pot broke, but not the table).  High Drama!  I lost the fight (no judging, I was a music theater loving wimp - I couldn't compete) and retreated to Susan's house where we missed the first 10 minutes and tried to watch the rest through "snow" on her black and white tv with terrible reception.  I think we finally gave up and didn't even get through to Act Two.

Fast forward many many years.  Last night I finally saw a production of Sunday in the Park with George.  I almost didn't get there.  The new production at The Roundabout Theater Company and starring Tony nominated Daniel Evans and Tony nominated Jenna Russell and directed by Sam Buntrock closes on Sunday and I had left my visit until the last minute.  Perhaps the ghosts of Bernadette and Mandy weighed to large in my mind and I somehow didn't want to ruin my special memories of the show from that worn out album of my youth.  I did get a ticket, though, and last evening I settled into my seat at Studio 54 to see, for the very first time, this magical piece of musical theater.  And I was not disappointed.

Sunday in the Park with George is an enchanting, captivating, astonishing, breathtaking, moving, miraculous musical theater experience.  Clearly I liked it.  I am not sure if I am capable of any objectivity.  Imagine if you were secretly in love with someone and you met them for the first time after 20 years.  That was what it was like seeing the show for me.

The production, a transfer from London's Menier Chocolate Factory, was a revelation.  No literally - it revealed so many things about the show I didn't know about.  Somehow in my mind I thought the show was almost entirely sung through, which isn't true.  There is a lot of dialogue and story that I had had no exposure to; especially in Act Two, which has a great deal of dialogue...that was all new to me.  Then there was the brilliant score.  Hearing it for the first time, live, with a live orchestra only inches away - well - I was in heaven. 

I was worried that I would only be disappointed by Russell and Evans; I mean, who can compete with Patinkin and Peters?  No one!  But they were really wonderful in their own way.  I warmed to them immediately and fell head over heels for them almost immediately (I am sorry to Peters and Patinkin for being an unfaithful scallywag). 

The most amazing element of the production was the much discussed projections.  I couldn't really wrap my head around how they would work.  I was worried they would distract from the music and story, but they did not.  It really is a brilliant solution to staging the show.  The physical scenery seemed to be an all white gallery which morphed to different locales with stunning projections.  The way the painting and landscape changed and moved; revealing new and different colors and shades was simply dazzling. Particularly amusing was the use of two small white canvases with dogs projected on them for Evans to literally interact with during one song.  Ingenious.  It only enhanced the experience and never detracted.

I was loving the show, really loving it (despite a slightly squirming pre-teen next to me who kept eating gummy bears and smacking gum - I forgave her - it is a lot for a 10 year old to grasp, perhaps).  Then at the end of act one; it happened.  I had an experience that I will now add to my top 10 list of all time great stage moments.  At the end of Act One, George is left alone with his painting as Dot and their child leave for America.  They are to be separated forever, but she will live on in his painting.  Oh gosh, I am starting to cry as I type this.  George begins to work on his painting - which is essentially alive in front of us - as he arranges and moves the actors around the stage.  Slowly the finished painting, a tableau of "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" begins to take full and glorious shape in front of our eyes.  He moves a woman upstage.  He adjusts a hat.  He adds a cigar.  He  opens a parasol.  Until, finally, everyone is in just the right place.  It is finished.   The song reaches its beautiful conclusion, the curtain comes down and a projection of the actual painting is projected vividly before us.  I was literally shaking in my seat.  I was blown away.  Maybe it was the song.  Maybe it was the way Buntrock had staged the number.  Maybe it was the joy and power of seeing the long imagined scene come to life before my eyes.  I don't know.  Whatever the cause, I was a mess.  I bolted up the aisle and out the front door and ducked down an alley.  I needed a private moment.  When I cleared my eyes I realized I was standing among piles of trash and I laughed out loud.

This is why I love theater folks.  The power to transport.  The power to dream.  The power to move people.  There amongst the bags of refuse I was so incredibly moved and happy.  What a gift!  I will never forget that moment. 

I am sure I am now rambling like a 4th grade girl - I don't care.  But, I do realize that it may not make for the most scintillating reading; so I will simply end here.  I encourage anyone in the New York Metro Area and the means to see this show before it closes on Sunday  - to go!  It will be a night you won't soon forget (even if you haven't obsessed about the cast recording for decades).

Have a great weekend everyone.  See some theater!

~ See You On The Aisle