‘Memoirs of Amorous Gentlemen’ review: Musical Duncan Sheik was working on when he died is an awkward letdown

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When Duncan Sheik, the writer of the musical “Spring Awakening” and singer of the song “Barely Breathing,” unexpectedly died last month at age 56, his new off-Broadway show was about a week away from starting previews. 

That’s tough for a work in progress, which should be making changes nightly. Without one of the creators, they’re stuck in a state of paralysis. But Sheik’s score, while far from perfect, is not really the main problem for “Memoirs of Amorous Gentlemen,” the clumsy and uncomfortable musical that opened Thursday in the old “Sleep No More” compound in the depths of Chelsea.

Although not his best work (that’s still “Spring Awakening”), some of the songs — particularly those sung by Sophia Anne Caruso as Colette — are emotive and rousing; a wall of pure sound that’s more transportive than anything else in this awfully familiar nightclub.

What troubles “Memoirs,” a musical set in a Parisian brothel that caters to men’s fetishes, is that it’s not arousing. Or even a little sexy. Repeatedly calling the audience “perverts” and cracking Borscht Belt orgasm jokes doesn’t really get the blood pumping so much as the mind wandering.

And Rob Ashford’s direction has all the elegance of a meat mallet. I started to feel bad for the supporting actors on the sidelines who spent minutes awkwardly petting each other during other people’s numbers. 

It’s especially cringey when the rota of Johns are turned into easy jokes. Think a guy with a circus kink dressed as a clown, a dude in a pink corset who likes getting shaved and a tongue-wagging man on a leash who dreams of being a Labrador. The show isn’t sure if we’re supposed to celebrate these horn dogs letting their freak flags fly or cruelly mock them for it. So the near-unanimous choice is silence.

And eerie quiet is deafening in this cathouse called the Night Egg, since the scantily-clad actors are often less than a foot away from you.  Like a slew of other productions in recent years — “Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812,” the recent “Cabaret” revival and “Moulin Rouge!” — it’s set in an immersive club. 

There’s a round stage in the middle, cocktail tables all over and I suspect the Garment District is completely out of red velour. The environment brings to mind a French phrase: Deja vu.

That can work sometimes. But too often, and definitely here, it’s akin to sneaking veggies in your kid’s food. Let’s trick the audience into going to the theater!

Scott Pask’s set is pretty, but also bland, like the prefab home version of a burlesque theater. Just plop one down whenever and wherever you need it. Worse, Ashford makes no fun or creative use of the large room. It’s a whole lot of walking in circles and writhing in the middle of the stage. Clunky, clunky.

There is a story, sort of. But Leah Nanako Winkler’s terrible book is a ham-handed collection of cliches and cartoons that are hard to take seriously. Its 2-D quality could be because it’s based on a Japanese Manga comic book. In fact, it’s billed as the first-ever American musical to be. Not exactly an auspicious start!

The only character with some heft is Colette (Caruso), a young spitfire of a prostitute who’s smarter than all the rest. She’s our Emcee and our Satine rolled into one lesser creation.

One night, a boring man named Mr. Sakae (Marc delaCruz) stops by the Night Egg. A blocked writer, he’s not in the market for a roll in the hay, but for inspiration. Sakae gives Colette a notebook and pays her to answer four questions: What makes you laugh? What makes you cry? What do you long for? And what is your perversion?

Everybody else: What is the run time?

With its struggling author and courtesans in France, “Memoirs” has grand aspirations to be an edgier, downtown “Moulin Rouge.” Only it can’t can’t can’t. There is no operating feeling, or even much of a point — only the faint suggestion of a vibe.

Colette’s passion mostly lies in her loser boyfriend Leon (Cory Jecoma with a very pretty voice), a smooth-talking jerk who takes her money and cheats on her with a high-end lady of the night named Nana (Nkeki Obi-Melekwe). Love is in the air!

Really, the only times during “Memoirs” we care about anything is when Caruso is powerfully belting out her feelings, vague though they are as written. The “Beetlejuice” star’s unique voice is the musical’s greatest asset. And for three minutes here and there, the show abruptly switches into being good. Her sound is reminiscent of a modern Edith Piaf, and is therefore the only remotely French thing in this. 

The late Sheik’s music certainly isn’t — it’s much more Sheik than chic — but it is tuneful soft rock with an occasional side trip into “nntz nntz” beats and even a hint of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” at the end. The lyrics are choppier, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. Once recorded, it’ll make a nice addition to a connoisseur’s collection. 

But to experience the composer at his height, skip the Night Egg and head uptown to the revival of “Spring Awakening” in November.