Hair reviews, for those interested
For those that care to see them
note: entire contents copyright 2007 by Carl A. Rossi
"HAIR"
by James Rado and Gerome Ragni
music by Galt MacDermot
directed by Bill Doscher
musical direction by Mario Cruz
choreography by Laurie Fisher
Set Design by Steve Orr
Scenic Design & Paint by Jason Tennis
Costume Design by David Alger
Costume Assistant Judy Maggs
Lighting Design by Paul O'Shaughnessey
Sound Design by Jason Sheehan, Sandi McDonald
Properties by Janica Barrett, Carol Pyper, Rachel Moliere
Co-Producers Sandi McDonald, Carol Pyper
Assistant Stage ManagerCarol Pyper
Stage Manager Vicki Taylor
Woof … Rishi Basu
Crissy … Rachel Baum
Hud … Santio Cupon
Berger … Jeffrey Charles Marcus
Claude … Mike Mosey
Sheila … Susan Rubin
Jeannie … Lauren Sprague
The Tribe:
Mitzi A. Dorbu; Elizabeth Doran; Michael Glashow;
Rebecca Autumn Glucklich; Rob Guptill; Tara Lynn Jewett;
Laura Kandziolka; Eleza Kort; Ben H. Kram; Rachel Moliere;
Maaak Pelletier; Danielle Schulman; Noah Tobin; Rydia Q. Vielehr
HAIR, the American Tribal Love-Rock Musical, is now 40 years old and grey about the temples but has sweetly aged into its own little time capsule. Sweetness is what HAIR was all about, anyway; in his book THE SEASON, William Goldman commented that if mainstream America was too scared to encounter real-life hippies, it could safely view them at a distance through HAIR where Love, Love, Love rules, marijuana is the favored drug, and isn’t War a sad fact of Life? James Rado and Gerome Ragni’s non-libretto was innovative in its day, evoking a Happening taking place, like, now, man, with its plot-thread of Claude being drafted weaving throughout the hippie mood, lifestyle and vision, and Galt MacDermot’s score remains a breathtaking, groovy thing, as endlessly inventive as Virgil Thompson’s wonders with Gertrude Stein’s opera-librettos, several decades earlier, with each HAIR-number boasting its own shape and sound. Those who continue to praise Mr. Sondheim as the Great Innovator must confess that the Messrs. Rado, Ragni and MacDermot began the deconstruction of the American Musical, first, the difference being that their energy went into society and changed it whereas Mr. Sondheim’s drew society into him and colored it --- the HAIR trio entertained, shocked and enlightened with its cheeky-friendly satire and endless, melodious songs which include “Aquarius”, “Hair”, “Easy to Be Hard”, “Good Morning, Starshine”, and “Let the Sunshine In”, and, yes, War remains a sad fact of Life be it in jungles (then) or in deserts (now), and HAIR has enough little parallel jolts to keep it from being a mere nostalgic romp, today.
How odd that none of Boston’s professional theatres have celebrated HAIR’s 40th anniversary when other theatres, nationwide, have done so; instead, Jamaica Plain’s Footlight Club --- “amateur but not amateurish” --- is doing a mighty little job with it, and Bostonians should gratefully, thankfully attend for its visibility, alone. The Footlight evening isn’t perfect --- the body rhythms of its young ensemble are more cautious and kindergarten than rebellious and tribal, and some suggest that their cell phones are never far away --- but director Bill Doscher, musical director Mario Cruz and choreographer Laurie Fisher draw so much magic from a largely untrained cast (movement-wise) that only a Scrooge would care to grumble, throughout (to me, the acid test is “Three-Five-Zero-Zero” and it’s a true trip at the Footlight, thank you); their production may lack polish but so did the original Flower Children and, thus, enough of Footlight’s Now finds its way back to HAIR’s Then. The ensemble’s strength is two-fold: firstly, Mr. MacDermot’s score is beautifully, if obediently, sung; secondly, how moving to watch these young people, raised in a terrifying world, tasting HAIR’s peace, brotherhood and (reasonable) protest, finding it all quite palatable and letting the sunshine into their own hemmed-in souls. Yes, yes, Act One ends in an all-nude finale, dimly staged but, again, how wondrous to see the cast shed both clothes and armor when today’s society offers no reason to do so --- when this production closes and its stage-hippies go their separate ways, may some of HAIR’s tests and lessons trail behind them…
That said, the most believable performances come from those who blend their energy with the correct period look: thus, Jeffrey Charles Marcus’ Berger and Rishi Basu’s Woof dominate the Tribe: Mr. Marcus is clearly the leader, hyper but friendly à la Mickey Dolenz, and Mr. Basu, a warm, bear-like fellow, is the ideal sidekick. Among the numerous young women, Lauren Sprague’s Jeannie is properly abrasive and Rachel Baum’s Crissy (“Frank Mills”) is thin enough, no, gaunt enough, to suggest a life of living on the streets, hand-to-mouth. The packed house --- the fullest I’ve seen at the Footlight, yet --- enjoyed themselves down to the handclapping, aisle-dancing finale; those with a sharp eye may notice that the familiar Comedy mask hanging over the Footlight proscenium merrily sports a joint and a flower-necklace: if Comedy can groove with HAIR, so can Bostonians --- HAIR’s 40th anniversary is almost over and Beantown’s theatres have proven to be just as reluctant to touch it now as it did, then.
Peace.
"Hair" (2-17 November)
THE FOOTLIGHT CLUB
Eliot Hall, 7A Eliot Street, JAMAICA PLAIN, MA
1 (617) 524-6506
Hallelujah HAIR
A Review by Beverly Creasey
The musical HAIR seems to come along at least once every decade since its controversial debut in l967-and I think I’ve seen almost all of the productions. The Broadway tours play the big houses, like the Colonial---which means you’re a long way from the stage and pretty far from any swell of emotion. At least, that’s how it’s felt to me. Now along comes the Footlight Club’s very close, extremely intimate fortieth anniversary production and WOW! You can feel the sparks. I grooved to the music like it was l967 again. If you want to be transported to the psychedelic decade of love, you have to hurry. The Footlight’s HAIR closes next weekend.
I’m a tough cookie when it comes to recreating my idealistic youth. I could rant for hours about films and TV shows which miss the mark but director Bill Doscher nails it. David Alger and Judy Maggs make the ‘60s costumes look exactly right, not the hippie retread threads which pass for fashion nowadays. These actors look and sound (thanks to music director Mario Cruz) so authentic, it made me nostalgic for the good old days of be-ins and protest marches.
Laurie “Fish” Fisher’s gorgeous, organic choreography fits like a glove in Steve Orr’s ingenious Central Park set. The tribe hully-gully, pony and Watusi, arms and hands stretching to the sky, as if they had been born to it. The glorious music fills the tiny Footlight hall and practically lifts you out of your seat. From the “Age of Aquarius” to “Let the Sunshine In” the show rocks!
It’s darn hard to pick highlights because every moment, every song is so moving but I’ll give you my faves: Rachel Baum’s ethereal “I met a man called Frank Mills” captures the innocence of the era, as does, believe it or not, Rishi Basu’s “Sodomy.” Jeffrey Charles Marcus, Mike Mosey and company’s “Long, Beautiful Hair” takes the roof off the joint and Danielle Schulman, Lauren Sprague and Rebecca Glucklich’s “Hello, Carbon Monoxide” is so delightful that Al Gore ought to make it his theme song. Santio Cupon delivers the goods with “I’m Black” and Rydia Vielehr, Mitzi Dorbu and Rachel Moliere punch up the satire with “White Boys.”
The whole show feels like an old-fashioned Love-In. Let your hair down. Tune in and turn on to the Footlight Club’s HAIR. It’s a spectacular, natural high.
Another Phone Call from the Past
I realized a forty-year-old dream last night when we went to see a community theater production of Hair. The Rent of its day--although far more transgressive--Hair was the Big Thing for little show-tune freaks, given even more appeal by the fact that we had to listen to the record (which was all we knew of the show, since we certainly wouldn't be allowed to see it. Nudes!) out of earshot of our parents. I remember clandestinely (I thought) listening to my older sister's recording and my mother overhearing "Happy Birthday Abie Baby" ("emanci-motherfuckin'-pator of the slaves") and pitching a fit. Has High School Musical ever occasioned such perfect drama?
Growing up in Boston added allure, too, as, when the show came to town in 1970, it was promptly shut down and banned for a month until the Supreme Court allowed it to reopen. I remember faking illness to stay home from school one day because the cast was going to perform on some local TV talk show. How ironic that "America's oldest community theater" (the Footlight Club opened in 1877) would be presenting it thirty-some years later without fuss, obscenities and (discreetly lit) nudity intact.
I didn't get half of the sex jokes back then, and certainly didn't recognize just how druggie it was--my exposure to illegal substances was then limited to the "awareness tablets" that a cop had brought into our junior high and lit in front of the classroom to demonstrate what marijuana smelled like so we would know when to blow the whistle on a party, I guess. Last night, at fifty-one, I had little patience with the show's loosey-goosey free-range dialogue that was supposed to convey the inspiration of drugs and wondered how anyone could have ever heard it as meaningful or even sincere.
But to think of drugs as "mind-expanding" is even more taboo today than in 1968, as is the show's gleeful employment of racial epithets. Forget getting banned in Boston; can it play in L.A.?
What I mostly thought last night, sentimentally and dolefully, is that now I'm the parents and, really, so is the show. I'm betting the sweet kids on stage were as bemused by the LBJ jokes they were spouting as I had been by "Sodomy."
note: entire contents copyright 2007 by Carl A. Rossi
"HAIR"
by James Rado and Gerome Ragni
music by Galt MacDermot
directed by Bill Doscher
musical direction by Mario Cruz
choreography by Laurie Fisher
Set Design by Steve Orr
Scenic Design & Paint by Jason Tennis
Costume Design by David Alger
Costume Assistant Judy Maggs
Lighting Design by Paul O'Shaughnessey
Sound Design by Jason Sheehan, Sandi McDonald
Properties by Janica Barrett, Carol Pyper, Rachel Moliere
Co-Producers Sandi McDonald, Carol Pyper
Assistant Stage ManagerCarol Pyper
Stage Manager Vicki Taylor
Woof … Rishi Basu
Crissy … Rachel Baum
Hud … Santio Cupon
Berger … Jeffrey Charles Marcus
Claude … Mike Mosey
Sheila … Susan Rubin
Jeannie … Lauren Sprague
The Tribe:
Mitzi A. Dorbu; Elizabeth Doran; Michael Glashow;
Rebecca Autumn Glucklich; Rob Guptill; Tara Lynn Jewett;
Laura Kandziolka; Eleza Kort; Ben H. Kram; Rachel Moliere;
Maaak Pelletier; Danielle Schulman; Noah Tobin; Rydia Q. Vielehr
HAIR, the American Tribal Love-Rock Musical, is now 40 years old and grey about the temples but has sweetly aged into its own little time capsule. Sweetness is what HAIR was all about, anyway; in his book THE SEASON, William Goldman commented that if mainstream America was too scared to encounter real-life hippies, it could safely view them at a distance through HAIR where Love, Love, Love rules, marijuana is the favored drug, and isn’t War a sad fact of Life? James Rado and Gerome Ragni’s non-libretto was innovative in its day, evoking a Happening taking place, like, now, man, with its plot-thread of Claude being drafted weaving throughout the hippie mood, lifestyle and vision, and Galt MacDermot’s score remains a breathtaking, groovy thing, as endlessly inventive as Virgil Thompson’s wonders with Gertrude Stein’s opera-librettos, several decades earlier, with each HAIR-number boasting its own shape and sound. Those who continue to praise Mr. Sondheim as the Great Innovator must confess that the Messrs. Rado, Ragni and MacDermot began the deconstruction of the American Musical, first, the difference being that their energy went into society and changed it whereas Mr. Sondheim’s drew society into him and colored it --- the HAIR trio entertained, shocked and enlightened with its cheeky-friendly satire and endless, melodious songs which include “Aquarius”, “Hair”, “Easy to Be Hard”, “Good Morning, Starshine”, and “Let the Sunshine In”, and, yes, War remains a sad fact of Life be it in jungles (then) or in deserts (now), and HAIR has enough little parallel jolts to keep it from being a mere nostalgic romp, today.
How odd that none of Boston’s professional theatres have celebrated HAIR’s 40th anniversary when other theatres, nationwide, have done so; instead, Jamaica Plain’s Footlight Club --- “amateur but not amateurish” --- is doing a mighty little job with it, and Bostonians should gratefully, thankfully attend for its visibility, alone. The Footlight evening isn’t perfect --- the body rhythms of its young ensemble are more cautious and kindergarten than rebellious and tribal, and some suggest that their cell phones are never far away --- but director Bill Doscher, musical director Mario Cruz and choreographer Laurie Fisher draw so much magic from a largely untrained cast (movement-wise) that only a Scrooge would care to grumble, throughout (to me, the acid test is “Three-Five-Zero-Zero” and it’s a true trip at the Footlight, thank you); their production may lack polish but so did the original Flower Children and, thus, enough of Footlight’s Now finds its way back to HAIR’s Then. The ensemble’s strength is two-fold: firstly, Mr. MacDermot’s score is beautifully, if obediently, sung; secondly, how moving to watch these young people, raised in a terrifying world, tasting HAIR’s peace, brotherhood and (reasonable) protest, finding it all quite palatable and letting the sunshine into their own hemmed-in souls. Yes, yes, Act One ends in an all-nude finale, dimly staged but, again, how wondrous to see the cast shed both clothes and armor when today’s society offers no reason to do so --- when this production closes and its stage-hippies go their separate ways, may some of HAIR’s tests and lessons trail behind them…
That said, the most believable performances come from those who blend their energy with the correct period look: thus, Jeffrey Charles Marcus’ Berger and Rishi Basu’s Woof dominate the Tribe: Mr. Marcus is clearly the leader, hyper but friendly à la Mickey Dolenz, and Mr. Basu, a warm, bear-like fellow, is the ideal sidekick. Among the numerous young women, Lauren Sprague’s Jeannie is properly abrasive and Rachel Baum’s Crissy (“Frank Mills”) is thin enough, no, gaunt enough, to suggest a life of living on the streets, hand-to-mouth. The packed house --- the fullest I’ve seen at the Footlight, yet --- enjoyed themselves down to the handclapping, aisle-dancing finale; those with a sharp eye may notice that the familiar Comedy mask hanging over the Footlight proscenium merrily sports a joint and a flower-necklace: if Comedy can groove with HAIR, so can Bostonians --- HAIR’s 40th anniversary is almost over and Beantown’s theatres have proven to be just as reluctant to touch it now as it did, then.
Peace.
"Hair" (2-17 November)
THE FOOTLIGHT CLUB
Eliot Hall, 7A Eliot Street, JAMAICA PLAIN, MA
1 (617) 524-6506
Hallelujah HAIR
A Review by Beverly Creasey
The musical HAIR seems to come along at least once every decade since its controversial debut in l967-and I think I’ve seen almost all of the productions. The Broadway tours play the big houses, like the Colonial---which means you’re a long way from the stage and pretty far from any swell of emotion. At least, that’s how it’s felt to me. Now along comes the Footlight Club’s very close, extremely intimate fortieth anniversary production and WOW! You can feel the sparks. I grooved to the music like it was l967 again. If you want to be transported to the psychedelic decade of love, you have to hurry. The Footlight’s HAIR closes next weekend.
I’m a tough cookie when it comes to recreating my idealistic youth. I could rant for hours about films and TV shows which miss the mark but director Bill Doscher nails it. David Alger and Judy Maggs make the ‘60s costumes look exactly right, not the hippie retread threads which pass for fashion nowadays. These actors look and sound (thanks to music director Mario Cruz) so authentic, it made me nostalgic for the good old days of be-ins and protest marches.
Laurie “Fish” Fisher’s gorgeous, organic choreography fits like a glove in Steve Orr’s ingenious Central Park set. The tribe hully-gully, pony and Watusi, arms and hands stretching to the sky, as if they had been born to it. The glorious music fills the tiny Footlight hall and practically lifts you out of your seat. From the “Age of Aquarius” to “Let the Sunshine In” the show rocks!
It’s darn hard to pick highlights because every moment, every song is so moving but I’ll give you my faves: Rachel Baum’s ethereal “I met a man called Frank Mills” captures the innocence of the era, as does, believe it or not, Rishi Basu’s “Sodomy.” Jeffrey Charles Marcus, Mike Mosey and company’s “Long, Beautiful Hair” takes the roof off the joint and Danielle Schulman, Lauren Sprague and Rebecca Glucklich’s “Hello, Carbon Monoxide” is so delightful that Al Gore ought to make it his theme song. Santio Cupon delivers the goods with “I’m Black” and Rydia Vielehr, Mitzi Dorbu and Rachel Moliere punch up the satire with “White Boys.”
The whole show feels like an old-fashioned Love-In. Let your hair down. Tune in and turn on to the Footlight Club’s HAIR. It’s a spectacular, natural high.
Another Phone Call from the Past
I realized a forty-year-old dream last night when we went to see a community theater production of Hair. The Rent of its day--although far more transgressive--Hair was the Big Thing for little show-tune freaks, given even more appeal by the fact that we had to listen to the record (which was all we knew of the show, since we certainly wouldn't be allowed to see it. Nudes!) out of earshot of our parents. I remember clandestinely (I thought) listening to my older sister's recording and my mother overhearing "Happy Birthday Abie Baby" ("emanci-motherfuckin'-pator of the slaves") and pitching a fit. Has High School Musical ever occasioned such perfect drama?
Growing up in Boston added allure, too, as, when the show came to town in 1970, it was promptly shut down and banned for a month until the Supreme Court allowed it to reopen. I remember faking illness to stay home from school one day because the cast was going to perform on some local TV talk show. How ironic that "America's oldest community theater" (the Footlight Club opened in 1877) would be presenting it thirty-some years later without fuss, obscenities and (discreetly lit) nudity intact.
I didn't get half of the sex jokes back then, and certainly didn't recognize just how druggie it was--my exposure to illegal substances was then limited to the "awareness tablets" that a cop had brought into our junior high and lit in front of the classroom to demonstrate what marijuana smelled like so we would know when to blow the whistle on a party, I guess. Last night, at fifty-one, I had little patience with the show's loosey-goosey free-range dialogue that was supposed to convey the inspiration of drugs and wondered how anyone could have ever heard it as meaningful or even sincere.
But to think of drugs as "mind-expanding" is even more taboo today than in 1968, as is the show's gleeful employment of racial epithets. Forget getting banned in Boston; can it play in L.A.?
What I mostly thought last night, sentimentally and dolefully, is that now I'm the parents and, really, so is the show. I'm betting the sweet kids on stage were as bemused by the LBJ jokes they were spouting as I had been by "Sodomy."