Violet, a young woman with a disfiguring facial scar, has left home in search of a miracle from a TV evangelist. She believes to her core that he can make her beautiful, while everyone who looks beyond the scar can see what a mirror can’t — her indomitable spirit and beautiful soul.
Where: Front Porch Theatricals at New Hazlett Theater, 6 Allegheny Square East, North Side.
When: 8 p.m. Thursday-Saturday and 2 p.m. Sunday.
Tickets: $30 or $35 at the door; $24 for students, groups and artists; frontporchpgh.com or showclix.com.
The musical “Violet,” now in bloom on the North Side, is just the latest example of Front Porch Theatricals giving vibrant, new life to a lesser-known gem of American musical theater.
The company that has emerged as a stalwart of Pittsburgh summer prides itself on employing resident talent, and there’s plenty on display here, starting with Violet herself, the diminutive blond powerhouse Elizabeth Boyke.
Her rural Southern drawl and infectious optimism give credence to the character’s unshakable faith, and as a singer, she is perfectly in tune with the songbook of Americana rhythms by composer Jeanine Tesori (“Fun Home”), with book and lyrics by Brian Crawley.
In keeping with author Crawley’s script, Violet’s scar is apparent but not seen. We discover it through song lyrics and the people repelled by it, then see in flashbacks as her father (Jonathan Visser) is chopping wood when 12-year-old Violet (Samantha Lucas) comes up behind him and is struck by his ax.
In her 20s and alone, Violet leaves her mountain home in Spruce Pine, N.C., and heads across the Vietnam-era Deep South to Tulsa, Okla., and the evangelist with the healing touch.
On the bus, vivacious Violet finds a friendly face in a kindly older woman (Becki Toth) and captures the attention of two soldiers, one black, one white.
She strikes up a bond with each of the men, who are drawn to her in different ways. Daniel Mayhak is convincing as an all-American type used to getting the girl, while Lamont Walker II is endearingly loyal as a black sergeant who, like Violet, endures looks of disgust and worse while traveling in the South in 1964.
The musical takes pains to draw parallels between the reactions of people to Violet’s disfigurement and the racism faced by Flick.
It is Flick, above all others, who understands Violet and who worries about the disappointment she is bound to face when she meets up with the preacher (Erich Lascek) in Tulsa.
In the musical’s hour and 45 minutes without intermission, the main characters each get a chance to shine, and Mr. Walker, a recent Point Park University graduate, certainly has his moment with “Let It Sing,” his big pitch “to give yourself a reason to rejoice.”
Director Robyne Parrish maintains a mood of hopefulness amid the looming outcomes of Violet confronting her relationships with the soldiers and facing the evangelist with her impossible dream.
Flashbacks to what brought her to his point feature Mr. Visser and Ms. Lucas — both top-notch — spotlighted in clever staging by director Parrish, set designer Johnmichael Bohach and lighting designer Annmarie Duggan.
Mr. Bohach uses a wide variety of suitcases and trunks to simulate everything from a bus to a bedroom, and “Violet” uses the whole of the New Hazlett for the old-time revival setting.
“Violet” was first performed in 1997 but didn’t make it to Broadway until 2014, as a vehicle for Sutton Foster, who was looking to stray from her usual dance-heavy musical comedy roles. It earned four Tony nominations, including ones for Ms. Foster and Joshua Henry as Flick.
In the Front Porch production, the underappreciated Tesori score is played superbly by an eight-piece band and sung beautifully throughout.
There is humor and there are tears aplenty, but to say that “Violet” is about beauty being skin deep would sell it short. It goes much deeper, taking us along for a ride into the consequences of intolerance and the healing power of love.
Sharon Eberson: seberson@post-gazette.com or 412-263-1960. Twitter: @SEberson_pg.
First Published: May 25, 2017, 4:00 a.m.