STAGE REVIEW : A Long ‘Sunday in the Park’

Prediction: “Sunday in the Park With George” will eventually be performed as a one-act, leaving out the modern adventures of “George” completely.

Harry Groener is “George” in South Coast Repertory’s lovely revival of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine’s 1984 musical. First, Groener plays George Seurat, a painter so obsessed with his work that he probably would have sacrificed his grandmother to it, let alone a mistress or two. (Sally Spencer plays his mistress.)

Then, after intermission, Groener plays another George, a young 1980s artist who may be descended from Seurat. This George takes his grandmother (Spencer in an old-lady wig) to his openings. Where his ancestor didn’t sell a single canvas in his lifetime, this George has hustled so many foundation grants for his “chromalumes” (light sculptures) that he is sick of the whole business.

Next to his ancestor, George II is a mope. Despite some amusing satire of the art racket, the second act of “Sunday in the Park” feels as if it had been written to fill out the other side of the record.

Act I is the evening, and it is a delight to see it in a small theater, unmiked and unhyped. “Sunday in the Park” was superbly performed on Broadway--more so than it is here. But the original production was almost too precise. Barbara Damashek’s staging is warmer and more relaxed. The story gets a chance to breathe.

It doesn’t lose its edge. George is a still a self-centered, uncompromising artist who can see people only as figures in a landscape--the famous “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.”

But here it’s possible to see George himself as a figure in a landscape, as part of the human comedy on view every Sunday afternoon at the river bank. He is no more obsessed than the dog sniffing the grass, the soldier eyeing the nursemaid, or the old lady spying a good seat under the tree. Everybody is on the hunt. It’s how we’re made.

Groener also gives George credit for having a limited amount of feeling (as much as he can afford) for his model, Dot. And he makes it clear that this is a man who doesn’t give a damn about having a “career,” in the 1980s sense of the term. All he wants to do is paint. Why can’t anyone understand that?

Groener’s George has the ruthless simplicity of a Shaw hero, and even looks a little like the young G.B.S.--fierce of beard, but mild of eye. Underneath there’s an obedient boy struggling not to get out. Fine detailing here.

“Sunday in the Park” obviously can’t be done coarsely. The problem would be not to get too precious. Sondheim’s score, for example, is so tightly controlled, in imitation of Seurat’s brush, that it could easily sound academic--and sometimes did on Broadway.

Here, the ensemble sits to the side of George’s “picture,” as though a band were playing in the park that afternoon. When George freezes his composition, the musicians freeze too. That’s charming, visually, but what’s more important is that Sondheim’s music flows, like a good dry wine at a picnic. Feelings don’t gush, but they are in the air. We can see why the story wanted to be sung. Musical director Dennis Castellano deserves the appreciation here.

Also the show’s designers--Shigeru Yaji (costumes), Cliff Faulkner (set), Tom Ruzika (lighting). We need the sense of a magical canvas that people can step into and out of, and we get it.

The SCR company is big and generally well-cast. Spencer’s Dot doesn’t have the raucous undertones that one would expect from a cocotte, but isn’t that a cliche? This Dot is pretty, neatly dressed and very much her own mistress, no matter whom she’s sleeping with. Her first number, as she’s posing for George, seems strangely contrived; but after that she’s at home with the role and we’re at home with her.

Among the supporting players, you will notice Richard Doyle, in a nicely idiomatic performance as George’s friend Jules, the play’s Salieri figure. Other people you will notice for not having as firm a grip on their roles as they should. “Sunday in the Park” combines easiness and fierce concentration, and not all the company can handle its formal demands.

But when George finally balances his canvas, and Sondheim’s music reaches its long-sought harmony, there is a thrilling sense of arrival. After that, I personally would have been glad to call it a night. Why does every musical have to be three hours long?

Plays Tuesdays-Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 7:30. Matinees Saturdays and Sundays at 2:30. Tickets $17-$30. Closes July 16. 655 Town Center Drive, Costa Mesa. (714) 957-4033.