‘Stereophonic’ at the Pantages falls flat: Review

“Stereophonic,” David Adjmi’s heralded drama that won five Tony Awards including best play, is ready for its Los Angeles close-up.

The first national tour production, which opened Wednesday at the Hollywood Pantages Theatre, seems right at home in the music capital of the world. The play about a 1970s rock band on the brink of superstardom takes place in recording studios in Sausalito and L.A., where the Laurel Canyon vibe is never out of sight.

The visual crispness of this L.A. premiere goes a long way toward dispelling doubts that the Pantages is the wrong venue for this ensemble drama. If there’s a problem, it isn’t the cavernousness of the theater. The production, gleaming with period details on a set by David Zinn that gives us clear views into both the sound and control rooms, comfortably inhabits the performance space, at least from the perspective of a decent orchestra seat.

The play, which includes original music from Will Butler, the Grammy-winning artist formerly of Arcade Fire, has a sound every bit as robust as one of the blockbuster musicals that regularly passes through the Pantages. The songs, crushed by the actors at top volume, are Butler’s indie rock re-creation of cuts for a part-British, part-American band that bears such a striking resemblance to Fleetwood Mac that a lawsuit brought by a former sound engineer and producer of the group was eventually settled.

Adjmi, like Shakespeare, takes his inspiration where he finds it. And like the Bard, he makes his sources his own, alchemizing the material for novel ends.

Unfolding in 1976 and 1977, “Stereophonic” offers a fly-on-the-wall perspective of a band at a crossroads. While recording a new album top-heavy with expectations, the group falls prey to romantic conflicts and self-destructive spirals, to toxic jealousies and seething insecurities. The prospect of fame magnifies pathologies that have been intensifying over time.

Diana (Claire DeJean) is the Stevie Nicks of the band. Beautiful, achingly vulnerable and awash in lyrical talent, she is entangled in a relationship with Peter (Denver Milord), the Lindsey Buckingham of the group, who strives for musical perfection no matter the cost.

Their connection is as professionally enriching as it is personally destructive. Diana’s ambition is matched by her self-doubt. She’s susceptible to a Svengali yet doesn’t want anyone to tell her how to write her songs.

Peter, angrily competitive, can’t help resenting the natural ease of Diana’s talent, even as it’s her song from their first album that has put the band back in the spotlight. His genius is ferociously exacting while hers seems to spring naturally from her soul.

Artistically they depend on each other, but the tension between them is unsustainable. And as the play makes clear, there’s no way to keep their personal lives out of the studio.

DeJean and Milord are the most captivating performers in the ensemble. The other actors are solid but this touring production makes clear just how integral the original cast was to the success of the play.

Daniel Aukin’s production, which had its New York premiere at Playwrights Horizons in 2023 before moving to Broadway the following year, hasn’t lost its confident flow. The storytelling is lucidly laid out. But the tantalizing peculiarities of the characters have been whittled down.

The British band members suffer the worst of it. Emilie Kouatchou’s Holly moves the character away from the obvious Christine McVie reference, but her role has become vaguer and less central. Cornelius McMoyler’s Simon, the drummer and weary manager, fills the bill in every respect but gravitas, which must be in place if the character’s ultimate confrontation with Peter is to have the necessary payoff.

No one could compete with Will Brill, who won a Tony for his strung-out portrayal of Reg, a deranged innocent whose addictions and dysfunctions create farcical havoc for the band. Christopher Mowod can’t quite endow this “sad man in a blanket,” as Simon dubs his bundled-up bandmate, with the same level of fey madness that Brill was able to entertainingly supply.

These casting differences wouldn’t be worth noting if it weren’t for their impact on a play that distinguishes itself by its observational detail. Everything is just a little more obvious, including the two American sound guys bearing the brunt of the artistic temperaments running riot in the studio.

Jack Barrett’s Grover, the sound engineer who lied about his background to get the job, sands off some of the character’s rough edges in a more straightforwardly appealing version of the character than Eli Gelb’s bracing portrayal in New York. Steven Lee Johnson’s Charlie, the dorky assistant sound engineer, is an amiable weirdo, though I missed the way Andrew R. Butler played him almost like a space alien in New York.

The play has been edited, but it’s still a bit of an endurance test. Art isn’t easy for the characters or for us. But the effort isn’t in vain.

Adjmi’s overlapping dialogue and gaping silences, orchestrated in a neo-Chekhovian style, renders the invisible artistic process visible. By the end of the play, the tumultuous human drama behind creative brilliance emerges in poignant, transcendent glory.