ajhlovestheatre

THE QUEEN OF VERSAILLES

Music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz 

Book by Lindsey Ferrentino

directed by Michael Arden

based on Lauren Greenfield’s documentary film and the life stories of Jackie and David Siegel

St James Theatre, New York City – until 21 December 2025

running time: 2 hours 50 minutes including interval 

https://queenofversaillesmusical.com

Aside from the questionable timing of producing a musical about revelling in excess when many ordinary Americans are trying to make do with less and less, this must have looked like such a good idea on paper. The first stage score in decades from Stephen Schwartz, the man who gave us Godspell, Pippin and Wicked, reuniting with one of his leading ladies from the latter show, Tony winner Kristin Chenoweth, supported by Oscar winner F Murray Abraham, with a script by acclaimed playwright Lindsey Ferrentino. On top of all that, director Michael Arden is a double Tony winner for Parade and the still-running Maybe Happy Ending, and his work on the Once On This Island revival of 2018 was little short of visionary. 

So, The Queen of Versailles arrives on Broadway following a developmental run in Boston with a pedigree many other shows would envy. The track records of all involved makes it even more unfathomable how it could have arrived in NYC in this wan state, and if this is the improved version then the mind boggles at what it must have been like in Massachusetts last year. One wonders if the participation of the ‘Queen of Versailles’ herself, Jackie Siegel, the subject of the documentary on which this musical is based, has scuppered any chance of any critical thinking about the central figure. 

Siegel and her husband David, a timeshare tycoon, were in the midst of building their dream home – the largest private residence in the USA, inspired by the Palace of Versailles which the Siegels visited on their honeymoon, according to Ferrentino’s book – when the stock market crash of 2017 caused them to run out of money….temporarily. We see Jackie (Chenoweth, whose relentless sunniness tends to bely any sense of trauma on the character’s part at least until the last fifteen minutes of the show) ascend from humble working class upbringing via an engineering degree then the sexism of corporate America to an abusive first marriage and single motherhood before she meets her ageing knight in shining leisurewear, the ridiculously minted David. 

Improving ones lot in life is surely part of the great American Dream, and Jackie’s ambition and acquisition of riches is presented in flavourless dialogue and scenes that lack any real punch, enlivened only by Chenoweth’s trademark comic chutzpah and general cuteness. The whole show would probably play better in a much smaller house: the St James is a barn, presumably selected only for the reveal of Dane Laffrey’s soullessly opulent ballroom set (complete with sweeping staircase) very late in act two. The venue dwarfs the figures on stage and renders borderline unsympathetic characters even more remote and inaccessible than they initially appear. 

If we root for Jackie, it’s because it’s Kristin, but her cheeky charm and ear-splitting vocals only take her so far, and her chirpy unwillingness to be bound by financial and social constraints starts to look less and less credible or appealing as a very long evening draws on. Although the role was built around her, Chenoweth’s shortcomings as an actress are exposed: when her teenage daughter (Nina West, who gets the best song with the rock-lite ‘Pretty Wins’ decrying the shallowness of the lifestyle) dies and the Siegels launch a charity in her name, she registers vague regret but little real pain, and a sudden outburst seems like a flash in the pan required by the script rather than anything organic.

The wearisome framing device of the French court of Versailles featuring Marie Antoinette herself   (Cassondra James) is more ponderous than inspired, although the frocks (by Christian Cowan) are gorgeous. To be fair, the whole show looks as though it has had cash thrown at it (Kristin-Jackie’s garish wardrobe brings to mind Dolly Parton’s comment about it costing a lot of money to look this cheap), but without any clear point-of-view or anything distinguished in terms of book and score, it just doesn’t matter.

Almost as overused as the historical French stuff is the use of cameras and live footage (none of which is as technically slick as it could be, especially when compared with the work in Sunset Blvd, the last tenant at this theatre) as we are constantly reminded that they’re making a documentary. These people are just not that interesting or sympathetic, with the exception of Melody Butiu’s rather lovely Sofia, the faithful family retainer whose assimilation into the Siegel clan doesn’t erase her anguish at being separated from her own family overseas. Butiu is wrenching in her pain but the subject gets dropped pretty quickly, maybe because it casts Jackie in an insensitive light.

Schwartz’s score is surprisingly undistinguished, often sounding like snippets of his earlier work, while unfortunately reminding one of how much better they were. ‘Caviar Dreams’, Jackie’s first “I want” song, bears a disconcerting initial resemblance to the opening of Shrek The Musical and frankly I know which misunderstood monster I would rather spend an evening with. A bizarre duet about a dead pet lizard for the stoner daughter and her cousin, and a bewildering Country and Western production number for an at-sea F Murray Abraham, both seem the kind of things that should have been cut out-of-town but nope, here they are. The audience looks on, incredulous and/or indifferent. It’s hard to work out if the lyrics are any good because the sound is appalling, rendering at least sixty per cent of the show unintelligible.

The final section – the house is almost complete and Jackie tries to throw a celebration party that nobody wants to attend – reminds us, heavy handedly, that this is a cautionary tale. But cautioning who and about what? By this stage, Kristin-Jackie is giving it the full Norma Desmond (the original, not the Scherzinger/Lloyd version) going bonkers on a massive staircase with only a light ring for company. She’s working her tush off up there for so little payoff. I was just glad to get out of the theatre.