Cork Opera House The courage and commitment shown by the creative team for this presentation of West Side Story are more than rewarded by a triumphant production.
Musical director John O'Brien conducts an orchestra obviously delighting in the exuberant rhythms of Leonard Bernstein's famous score while also disciplined and skillful enough to convey its melodic pathos.
David O'Connor structures the choreographic imprint of Jerome Robbins through the animation of a large, testosterone-overloaded cast, and that includes the girls.
As the dancing is part of the narrative, the need is for formal but unobtrusive control, and this, apart from a couple of frenzied episodes, is well managed both by the dancers and by director Bryan Flynn.
The lighting by Michael Hurley sometimes misses these ever-moving targets (the headlights especially are more irritant than atmospheric) and can't always keep up with Olan Wrynne's busy set, but even so, these, with Deirdre Dwyer's tank-top and cinch-waist costume design, remain tightly within the action and the narrative.
That, of course, is a 1950s New York take on Romeo and Juliet.
Instead of Montagues and Capulets, the lovers here, Maria and Tony, are linked to opposing gangs of youngsters who define themselves in rivalries and loyalties, and by inherited and acquired myths of manhood.
Maria's brother is a member of the Sharks, a gang of first-generation Puerto Rican Americans, while Tony belongs to the Jets, a working-class white gang.
The lyrics by Stephen Sondheim capture contemporary aspiration and entrapment.
The mood is then raised with the soaring theme of romance.
As an ensemble production then, this is a visual and musical success.
There are some difficulties, especially with individual vocals, redeemed by the apparition of Ellie Mullane as the "dream girl" with There's A Place for Us.
The ubiquitous body microphones make it difficult to know what lead singers Mark Adamson, Danielle Eller and Hollie Cassar actually sound like despite giving dying whispers unexpected resonance.
Even members of the chorus wear ear-pieces like slashes from ear to mouth - and while this might be tolerated in such a big show, the sight of our half-naked hero Tony rising from Maria's bed, seemingly scarred with black facial strapping, is so ludicrous as to provoke sniggers from the otherwise sympathetic audience.
Musical director John O'Brien conducts an orchestra obviously delighting in the exuberant rhythms of Leonard Bernstein's famous score while also disciplined and skillful enough to convey its melodic pathos.
David O'Connor structures the choreographic imprint of Jerome Robbins through the animation of a large, testosterone-overloaded cast, and that includes the girls.
As the dancing is part of the narrative, the need is for formal but unobtrusive control, and this, apart from a couple of frenzied episodes, is well managed both by the dancers and by director Bryan Flynn.
The lighting by Michael Hurley sometimes misses these ever-moving targets (the headlights especially are more irritant than atmospheric) and can't always keep up with Olan Wrynne's busy set, but even so, these, with Deirdre Dwyer's tank-top and cinch-waist costume design, remain tightly within the action and the narrative.
That, of course, is a 1950s New York take on Romeo and Juliet.
Instead of Montagues and Capulets, the lovers here, Maria and Tony, are linked to opposing gangs of youngsters who define themselves in rivalries and loyalties, and by inherited and acquired myths of manhood.
Maria's brother is a member of the Sharks, a gang of first-generation Puerto Rican Americans, while Tony belongs to the Jets, a working-class white gang.
The lyrics by Stephen Sondheim capture contemporary aspiration and entrapment.
The mood is then raised with the soaring theme of romance.
As an ensemble production then, this is a visual and musical success.
There are some difficulties, especially with individual vocals, redeemed by the apparition of Ellie Mullane as the "dream girl" with There's A Place for Us.
The ubiquitous body microphones make it difficult to know what lead singers Mark Adamson, Danielle Eller and Hollie Cassar actually sound like despite giving dying whispers unexpected resonance.
Even members of the chorus wear ear-pieces like slashes from ear to mouth - and while this might be tolerated in such a big show, the sight of our half-naked hero Tony rising from Maria's bed, seemingly scarred with black facial strapping, is so ludicrous as to provoke sniggers from the otherwise sympathetic audience.