It’s hard to imagine that, when writing Little Shop of Horrors in 1982, composer Alan Menken and book writer and lyricist Howard Ashman were hoping to elicit a reaction of, “Well, that was sweet.” After all, a people-eating plant capitalizing on one man’s unchecked greed to devour human flesh and take over the world is hardly the stuff of rom-coms. Sociologists may tell you that, in the four decades since its premiere, society has become desensitized to such acts as a result of the violent images both in entertainment and the news. But, in the case of Ford’s Theatre’s garden-variety Little Shop, running through May 18, the more likely culprit is simply that, in its slickness, the show struggles to leave any blood on the stage.

Based on the 1960 film of the same name, Little Shop of Horrors centers on Seymour (Derrick D. Truby Jr.), a schlubby Skid Row florist whose interest in “strange and exotic” plants leads him to an unknown species resembling a Venus flytrap. Seymour realizes that the plant feeds on human blood and flesh. Initially hesitant to facilitate feedings, Seymour soon discovers that the more the plant flourishes, the more successful he becomes in life and love. Before long, he has the father he always wanted (flower shop owner Mr. Mushnik, portrayed by Lawrence Redmond), the girlfriend he’s dreamed of (Audrey, played by Chani Wereley), and more money than he’s ever had. But when things spiral out of control and heads begin to roll—or get swallowed—Seymour struggles to keep the plant’s power at bay. The musical’s beloved score contains such hits as “Suddenly Seymour” and “Somewhere That’s Green,” among several lesser-known, but equally terrific, bops.

In its cross-pollination of musical styles, from girl group doo-wop to rock ’n’ roll, and deep roots in dark comedy, Little Shop of Horrors can easily become a rollicking romp that glosses over its darkest subject mater. Ashman’s book is among the most underrated in the musical theater canon, simultaneously hilarious and rife with heartbreaking subtext related to the chronic effects of domestic abuse, male loneliness, and the addictive nature of success. Perhaps, that’s why, in the glory of the puppets, musical numbers, and comedy that are as much hallmarks of the show as the darker bits, it’s become a favorite for high school theaters, despite its final body count.

But in professional production, with a supply of talent and skills to raise the emotional stakes, Little Shop has the potential to pack a heavier punch (as evidenced in the terrific off-Broadway production currently running at New York’s Westside Theatre). That the Ford’s production foregoes that opportunity in order to deliver gloss over grit is especially surprising given its director, Kevin S. McAllister, is a prolific stage actor in D.C., who for years has shown his extraordinary talent for taking audiences through the darkest depths of despair and to the highest reaches of jubilation (he did both as Coalhouse Walker Jr. in Ragtime at Ford’s back in 2017). In Little Shop, he leans in to the latter at the expense of big emotional payoff. 

This is especially evident in the abusive treatment of Audrey by her sadistic dentist boyfriend Orin (Joe Mallon). The depictions of his violence toward her are scary, but move quickly. On the other hand, the moments when Orin is the focus of the action move indulgently slowly, allowing Mallon to milk every possible ounce of physical comedy and slapstick humor out of the scene and somehow softening his villainy. In comparison, Audrey, unfortunately, seems like an afterthought in this staging.

To his credit, Truby captures much of Seymour’s unspoken loneliness, adding welcome complexity to the mix. Impressively tall, he towers above many of his castmates, but from the start gives the impression of a man who feels awfully small. Taken in by Mushnik as an orphaned boy, Seymour admits in “Skid Row” that his boss “Treats me like dirt/ Calls me a slob/ Which I am.” His delivery is neither one of self-pity nor resentment, but resignation, and it is heartbreaking. Even so, as Seymour gains wealth and fame alongside Audrey II (his endearing name for the dastardly plant), Truby doesn’t quite capture a comparable level of emotion in exhibiting his character’s newfound confidence. Perhaps this was a choice to underscore the persistence of Seymour’s shame, but the journey is less satisfying as a result.

As is so often the case, street urchins Ronnette, Chiffon, and Crystal (played by Kaiyla Gross, Nia Savoy–Dock, and Kanysha Williams, respectively) practically make off with the show. McAllister has assembled a trio who blend magnificently well, adding exciting new riffs to well-known harmonies and buoying the energy in the room every time they walk onstage, especially when executing Ashleigh King’s choreography. Redmond’s Mushnik is comparably radiant, landing jokes and embracing the character’s sliminess without overdoing it. And as the voice of Audrey II, Tobias A. Young shows off his wide range and rich sound. 

Scenic designer Paige Hathaway’s Skid Row looms above the actors, constructed with dirty bricks and outfitted in rusted signs. She smartly uses a rolling platform for the flower shop, which emerges from and disappears into the set as the plant grows and the business becomes increasingly flush. Working in conjunction with lighting designer Max Doolittle, the stage only becomes more spooky as bright washes turn starkly toward rich red and green hues. Alejo Vietti’s costumes evoke the late 1950s, and her group outfits for the urchins grow increasingly flashy and fun. David Budries’ sound design proved troubling, however, as balance issues made it difficult to hear some of the performers over the band and those who could be heard came through muffled or tinny.

Any visit to Ford’s Theatre is sure to bring theatergoers face-to-face with visiting school groups. As both a historic museum and a performing arts venue, it stands to reason that there’s a tricky line between providing family-friendly entertainment and engaging in provocative artistry. But if that’s the case, why take on this show at all? What’s a Little Shop of Horrors without the bite?

Little Shop of Horrors, music by Alan Menken, book and lyrics by Howard Ashman, and directed by Kevin McAllister, plays at Ford’s Theatre through May 18. fords.org. $33–$95.