'Shout!' at the Marriott Theatre: Singing loud and proud, but going nowhere in particular

That lack of any context — I'm not speaking of some constructed narrative, but more of a feeling or a guiding visual aesthetic — was one of my main problems with “Shout!” when it first showed up in Chicago in a misconceived commercial production at what was then the Drury Lane Water Tower Theatre.

Let us stipulate that the hugely talented director-choreographer Rachel Rockwell has improved the show greatly for this reworked version at the Marriott. There is now a company of five mostly strong singers (Carey Anderson, Brooke Jacob, the lovable Tammy Mader, Jessie Mueller and Raena White) and a number of appealing dancers (Lauren Nicole Blane, Giovanni Bonaventura, Jaclyn Burch, Jarret Ditch, Craig Kaufman, Trisha Kelly, Amber Mak, Sam Rogers and Melissa Zaremba). There's a staging so sufficiently fluid and effective that you could easily lift up this production and deposit it in Las Vegas or Branson, Mo., and I don't say that with any condescension.

Most of the cheaper inclinations of that 2008 production — qualities that sparked in mild me a raging need to defend the integrity of this particular chapter of the Great British Songbook — have been nixed. At least the material is now treated with respect.

No longer does one have to suffer though one emotionally complex song after another being camped up beyond recognition (although campery hasn't entirely been banished from some parts of the show).

Because most of these songs are about relationships, Rockwell mostly uses her dancers to construct little narratives drawn from the lyrics: You get archetypal seductions, betrayals and the rapid transformation of a “Georgy Girl” from a sexy nerd with glasses to a smokin' hot urban sophisticate. It's all very slick and effective — not to mention entertaining — but it doesn't have much to do with the “Georgy Girl” in the seminal 1966 movie featuring the late, great Lynn Redgrave as a young woman who did not know what to do when her desires crashed up against her upbringing.

Does that matter? I think so. The clash of optimism and uncertainty is at the core of this sexually potent musical era; this material has only the optimism. You might reasonably decide that it doesn't matter, given that killer songs like “I Only Wanna Be With You” or “Downtown” came from an era when songwriters really knew how to pen melodic hooks. These songs are terrific when belted out in almost any circumstances (Jacob, alas, has a few pitch problems). Musical revues need great material; this one has far more than its share.

One of the fine singers here, the terrific Carey Anderson, has just the right, clear yet vulnerable voice for “You're My World.” And Mueller, a great star in the making, turns in a blistering rendition of “How Can I Be Sure?” so technically superb and emotionally rich that it makes you want to suspend any and all previous misgivings about this show.

Mueller's career, I'm convinced, just needs one more match to explode. Without her, this “Shout!” would be no stronger than a whisper. With her, it has rewards and the audience on opening night responded very warmly.

Both of the turns from the two best singers come later in the 90-minute show, when the songs are taken more seriously (and the choreographic work gets more ambitious and profound). Earlier on, Anderson sings “Puppet on a String,” a great Phil Coulter/Bill Martin song about power and control in a relationship. Here, it's accompanied by an overly obvious choreographic rag doll routine that's played mostly for laughs. There's nothing much underneath.

Albeit improved, “Shout!” still just floats without much reference to time or place or ideas, beyond the boots and the dresses. It's zesty and skilled entertainment. But I'm still not sure anyone can really sing loud and proud in a void.