Jeremy Jordan can do no wrong when it comes to the Broadway stage. Most recently in The Great Gatsby, Jordan’s rich vocals and dominating stage presence helped to refresh a familiar tale. From new musical to random revival, Floyd Collins has quite an intriguing hook. Jordan plays the titular character, an American cave explorer who became trapped and eventually died in a cavern he was intending to discover. Collins being stuck there was a veritable media sensation as people raced around the clock to rescue him before it was too late. How exactly does one transform this somber story into a full-on Broadway musical? Unfortunately, even the creatives do not seem to know the answer. A mess of confusing tonal shifts and a paper-thin story stretched past the point of logic does Floyd Collins no favors, despite unique staging and a passionate performance from Jeremy Jordan.
Despite a massive blank screen in the foreground of the stage, there really isn’t a whole lot to see when taking a seat at Lincoln Center’s Beaumont Theatre. In an opening reminiscent of Sweeney Todd’s “The Ballad of Sweeney Todd,” the townspeople tell of the tale of Floyd Collins. They recall his stubborn nature, and Jordan, the sole actor facing the other direction, makes his grand entrance despite already being present on stage. Sporting just a lantern and a bit of rope, Floyd starts our story exploring the very same cave where he will later meet his demise. Dim lighting masterfully keeps us laser-focused on Jordan and his facial expressions, reflecting the eerie glow of a cavern.
The staging is probably the best part of the show—quite a lot of care has been poured into this element, showcasing every inch of stage to its benefit. The ground looks dirty and well-worn, whilst the giant screen receives minimal use. It establishes mood and aids the lighting more than anything, though there is a single time when fireworks dazzle. A ramp leading down into the mineshaft becomes a focal point; Collins, laying on a concrete slab that looks remarkably like a dental chair, almost never leaves the stage for the entire runtime. Each time we leave the cave with Collins, the show completely flatlines, with blank characterizations and shoddy humor. Many of these jokes are either puns or dated, such as when Floyd remarks about “pulling his leg” shortly after they attach a harness to quite literally pull him loose.
The folksy yodeling soundtrack may work for some. Certainly, the central melody that echoes through the caverns, courtesy of Jordan’s silky vocals, will be an instant favorite on Broadway playlists. Musical chatter about defying death grows repetitive after awhile. No song is quite as aggravating as the act one finale, “The Riddle Song,” which goes on for an eternity. There’s no shortage of boring songs, either, but the visuals often make up for this by bathing actors in stunning silhouette, or finding creative ways to keep Floyd’s situation from growing too stale. Still, this musical absolutely would benefit from a shorter, tighter length, and the excision of many extra tunes that just contribute absolutely nothing to the larger whole. Did we really need a number about sleazy reporters that appears ripped from another show entirely?
Even the addition of some fantastical elements—particularly in act two—cannot manage to evade the monotony. Perhaps the aggravating decision to give depth to just one family member could have something to do with the emptiness. Only Homer (Jason Gotay), Floyd’s brother, has any kind of meaty role. Sister, Nellie (Lizzy McAlpine), seems interesting, but they never allow her story to develop. She simply sings sweet tunes. Twiggy reporter Skeets Miller (Taylor Trensch) gets more to do than any other character. Though Skeets contributes to the mania behind Floyd being trapped by reporting it back to his paper, his overall arc receives minimal payoff when all is said and done. “How Glory Goes” attempts to close out with a meditative ballad contemplating the afterlife. Though Redwood recently accomplished this with “Still,” the closing number of Floyd Collins feels entirely off-kilter, as if someone hastily rushed to add some meaning at the end for good measure.
Alas, Floyd Collins cannot overcome its narrative shortcomings enough to make a measurable imprint on the current Broadway season. Jeremy Jordan is phenomenal—in a league all his own when compared to the rest of the company. Stranding a star performer on a slab for an entire show takes commitment. Jordan remains up to the task, but the show itself cannot decide whether it wants to be a mild comedy or a serious drama. Iffy scene transitions and major moments, such as one with a smoldering bitch slap, can come across unintentionally funny rather than as intended. Buried under the weight of its own ambitions, Floyd Collins celebrates a forgotten figure in American history by sensationalizing the very same narrative it claims to be cradling.
Grab a pickaxe and help dig out Floyd Collins, now playing performances at Lincoln Center Theater at The Vivian Beaumont.
