Groban impressively acquits himself as an actor (the vocals were never in question) but is directed, as is the rest of the cast, to play the role as a rational one. Sweeney’s yearslong, one-track minded pursuit to avenge his wife is not a scorched-earth nihilism towards humanity, but a logical solution to an irksome problem. Mrs. Lovett’s idea to throw everyone around her into the grinder is borne, not out of desperation, but simply savvy. Ashford’s trademark quirkiness and appeal, typically a winning formula, don’t help the production’s need for grit. Only Jamie Jackson (as Judge Turpin) and Ruthie Ann Miles (as the Beggar Woman), are allowed to gaze deeply into the melodramatic abyss of their characters, really exploring the depravity that underscores the ghastly, cynical plot. These choices don’t stop the show from working (Sondheim and Wheeler’s craftsmanship is unsinkable), but do defang what should be a blood-curdling night of theatre.