FOLLIES by Stephen Sondheim

There is something wonderfully appropriate about staging Stephen Sondheim's Follies in a theatre brought back to life. The musical is set in a once-glorious Broadway theatre, now facing demolition, where former showgirls gather for a final reunion. The ghosts of their younger selves hover around them, while the crumbling theatrical splendour becomes a metaphor for the disappointments, regrets and missed opportunities of their lives.

This production also marks the welcome reopening of the refurbished Brickhouse Theatre, a splendid addition to Cambridge's theatrical scene.

Follies, with music and lyrics by Sondheim and a book by James Goldman, first appeared on Broadway in 1971. It is a strange, ambitious and sometimes bewildering musical, combining a bittersweet examination of marriage and middle-aged disillusionment with a dazzling recreation of the Broadway revues of an earlier generation.

I am an enormous admirer of Sondheim, but I have never felt entirely comfortable with Follies. For all its musical brilliance, there is something oddly unsatisfactory about its dramatic construction. It is a show that can thrill and frustrate in almost equal measure.

At its centre are two unhappy couples. Sally Durant Plummer, played here by Ellis Boden, has never really abandoned her youthful infatuation with the apparently successful Benjamin Stone, played by Will Bennet. Ben's wife Phyllis, played with just the right dose of venom by Julia Da Costa, is bitterly aware of the emotional emptiness of their marriage, while Sally's husband Buddy, played by Will Brady, struggles with his wife's continuing obsession with another man.

As they wander through the derelict theatre, their younger selves materialise, recreating moments from a past that seems infinitely more glamorous and promising than the present.

The four principals were excellent, bringing considerable vocal power and emotional commitment to demanding roles. This is no easy assignment for a young cast. How does an actor in their early twenties convincingly portray someone looking back over decades of disappointed hopes and failed relationships?

Wisely, director Dhyan Ruparel wisely made no attempt to disguise the performers as middle-aged people. Instead, the production relied on the contrast between the present-day characters and their younger selves, who appeared as eerie presences, their costumes and slightly reverberant microphones lending them an almost supernatural quality.

It was an effective theatrical device, reminding us that the past is never entirely past. These younger figures are not simply memories but persistent, sometimes unwelcome companions, forever confronting their older selves with what might have been.

Among the principals, Will Brady was particularly impressive as Buddy. His rendition of Buddy's Blues was a tour de force of almost gymnastic physicality, combining frenetic movement with a seething anger at love and life wasted. Here was a performer throwing himself into the number with exhilarating commitment.

But the emotional high point of the evening was Ellis Boden's performance of Losing My Mind, surely one of Sondheim's finest songs. Sally's hopeless devotion to Ben has become an obsession that has poisoned her marriage and distorted her entire life. Boden brought a visceral pain to the number, allowing the anguish to emerge through the music rather than through exaggerated theatrical gestures. It was a deeply affecting performance.

And what music! Sondheim cannot help filling Follies with extraordinary invention. The score is a loving, knowing and sometimes acerbic tribute to the great age of American musical theatre. There are echoes of Irving Berlin's exuberant song-and-dance numbers, the sophisticated wit of the Broadway revue and the darker, more sardonic musical world of Kurt Weill.

These pastiche numbers are far more than affectionate imitations. Sondheim understands the musical language of an earlier generation so completely that he can reproduce it, play with it and subtly undermine it. The cheerful surfaces frequently conceal something altogether more troubling.

The company rose splendidly to the challenge. The dance routines were executed with considerable flair and energy, although I occasionally felt that some outstayed their welcome. The musical direction, shared by Collier Owen and Rich Mandal, was another strength. The band played with assurance and sensitivity, with some particularly lovely string playing that brought warmth and colour to Sondheim's richly textured score.

Yet the problem with Follies, for me, remains Goldman's book. The four principal characters are unhappy, embittered and burdened by regret, but they are not always sufficiently developed to make us care about their emotional predicaments. Their relationships seem more like illustrations of disillusionment than fully convincing human entanglements.

And why, exactly, should these people spend so much time exposing the intimate failures of their marriages in the ruins of an old theatre? It is a marvellous theatrical conceit, but not necessarily a credible dramatic situation. At times, Sondheim's songs seem to carry an emotional weight that Goldman's dialogue has not entirely earned.

Follies is a musical about illusions, about people who have spent their lives pursuing dreams that were never likely to be fulfilled. The decaying theatre is a powerful symbol of their own crumbling emotional lives. The glamorous past, like the glamorous stage, turns out to have been largely an illusion. But I cannot entirely escape the feeling that the show's emotional hollowness is as much a weakness of the writing as an intended theme.

The title itself offers an intriguing additional meaning. Apart from the lavish theatrical entertainments of the past, a folly can also be an elaborate architectural structure, impressive to look at but serving little practical purpose. Follies sometimes seems to me just such an edifice: a magnificent construction of music, movement and theatrical imagination, with a strangely empty space at its heart.

That is not to diminish the achievement of this talented student company. On the contrary, they brought enormous vitality, commitment and skill to one of the most demanding works in the musical theatre repertoire. The singing was strong, the choreography frequently exhilarating and the orchestral playing a delight.

I left the Brickhouse Theatre having thoroughly enjoyed the evening, while still wondering whether Follies was the wisest choice for a company of such youthful talent. Its central preoccupations — ageing, nostalgia, compromise and the painful recognition of lives not fully lived — demand a maturity of experience that no amount of youthful enthusiasm can entirely supply.

Whatever my reservations about the musical itself, this was a production of considerable accomplishment. And it was especially pleasing to see the refurbished Brickhouse Theatre once again welcoming audiences. Cambridge has gained a fine theatrical space. Judging by the talent on display here, it will have no shortage of performers eager to fill it.