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"Hair' at the Prince
Steve Cohen
In your face, 40 years later
STEVE COHEN
You don't have to agree with all of the ’60s generation’s agenda to admire its energetic dedication to causes. But it’s hard to recapture the anti-war feelings of the 1960s. Witness the abject failure of today’s young people to mobilize even though they confront similar issues, such as the environment and another unpopular war. Today’s kids seem to be more aroused by opposition to fur coats and foie gras.
But at least in the 40th anniversary production of Hair at the Prince Music Theater, the enthusiasm is back. Richard M. Parison Jr.’s production colorfully recaptures the hippie movement’s flavor. (It’s billed as a 40th anniversary because Hair premiered in a Manhattan discotheque in 1967 in a much shorter version than what came to Broadway in 1968.)
Never before had a Broadway show displayed such frequent use of graphic language, such nudity and such endorsement of drug use and free love. The original Hair pushed envelopes, not just saying that racism was wrong but glamorizing interracial sex. Tom O’Horgan, the director, threw all this in people’s faces, figuratively. Richard Parison does it literally, with a thrust stage and by taking the actors into the aisles, sometimes onto patron’s laps. They prowl the side aisles, handing out invitations to a peace rally, then go into the rows, crawling across legs and laps until they get to the thrust part of the stage in the middle of the room. This helps show the younger part of the audience what all the fuss was about.
Hardly anything happens, but….
It also helps the show itself. Hair needs extra-literal action because the script itself is sparse. Hardly anything happens in Act One. The players introduce themselves, but with none of the specificity of A Chorus Line, for example. And most of the characters’ identities are as hazy as an acid trip. Act Two sees Claude’s induction into the army and his death in Vietnam, but there’s no development of characters and no confrontation of ideas.
Despite its lack of these virtues, Hair is worth seeing because of this production’s intensity and a presentation that’s more graphic than others, including the national tour of the original.
The singing is good if not spectacular; but Hair never was about that. In the original, the co-authors and lyricists, Gerome Ragni and James Rado, sang the lead roles of Berger and Claude. Thom Miller and Ashley Robinson do it here. In these key parts and in all the shorter ones, passion is more important than vocal quality. Robinson brings an appropriately haunted look to his doomed character, even from the first scene.
A waif worth watching
Ari Butler is charismatic and hilarious as Woof, the openly gay member of the hippie tribe. The outstanding voice in the ensemble belongs to Alyse Wojciechowski, a waif whose waistline is shorter than her name and who is worth looking for in future shows. She sings the song about "Frank Mills."
The memorable score includes the mood-setting "Aquarius," the early morning singing-song "Good Morning, Starshine" and the stirring finale (added in 1968) that starts with a complaint about the government’s "newest lies" and builds to the demand: "Let the Sunshine In." This call to action is a worthy successor to the best Kurt Weill-Bertholt Brecht anthems. The rock band called Cowboy Diplomacy is excellent.
Some Hair fans compare the show to Hamlet because of Claude’s indecision about whether or not to burn his draft card and/or show up for his induction. And they point to a song using Shakespeare’s lines from Hamlet: "What a piece of work is man." But this is a stretch. I see "What a piece..." as a companion to the song that precedes and follows it, "Walking in Space," which naturally leads into Shakespeare speaking of "this goodly frame, the earth...this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire." Ragni and Rado add: "How dare they try to end this beauty?" In context, it has nothing to do with Hamlet or indecision; it refers to the earth’s environment.
STEVE COHEN
You don't have to agree with all of the ’60s generation’s agenda to admire its energetic dedication to causes. But it’s hard to recapture the anti-war feelings of the 1960s. Witness the abject failure of today’s young people to mobilize even though they confront similar issues, such as the environment and another unpopular war. Today’s kids seem to be more aroused by opposition to fur coats and foie gras.
But at least in the 40th anniversary production of Hair at the Prince Music Theater, the enthusiasm is back. Richard M. Parison Jr.’s production colorfully recaptures the hippie movement’s flavor. (It’s billed as a 40th anniversary because Hair premiered in a Manhattan discotheque in 1967 in a much shorter version than what came to Broadway in 1968.)
Never before had a Broadway show displayed such frequent use of graphic language, such nudity and such endorsement of drug use and free love. The original Hair pushed envelopes, not just saying that racism was wrong but glamorizing interracial sex. Tom O’Horgan, the director, threw all this in people’s faces, figuratively. Richard Parison does it literally, with a thrust stage and by taking the actors into the aisles, sometimes onto patron’s laps. They prowl the side aisles, handing out invitations to a peace rally, then go into the rows, crawling across legs and laps until they get to the thrust part of the stage in the middle of the room. This helps show the younger part of the audience what all the fuss was about.
Hardly anything happens, but….
It also helps the show itself. Hair needs extra-literal action because the script itself is sparse. Hardly anything happens in Act One. The players introduce themselves, but with none of the specificity of A Chorus Line, for example. And most of the characters’ identities are as hazy as an acid trip. Act Two sees Claude’s induction into the army and his death in Vietnam, but there’s no development of characters and no confrontation of ideas.
Despite its lack of these virtues, Hair is worth seeing because of this production’s intensity and a presentation that’s more graphic than others, including the national tour of the original.
The singing is good if not spectacular; but Hair never was about that. In the original, the co-authors and lyricists, Gerome Ragni and James Rado, sang the lead roles of Berger and Claude. Thom Miller and Ashley Robinson do it here. In these key parts and in all the shorter ones, passion is more important than vocal quality. Robinson brings an appropriately haunted look to his doomed character, even from the first scene.
A waif worth watching
Ari Butler is charismatic and hilarious as Woof, the openly gay member of the hippie tribe. The outstanding voice in the ensemble belongs to Alyse Wojciechowski, a waif whose waistline is shorter than her name and who is worth looking for in future shows. She sings the song about "Frank Mills."
The memorable score includes the mood-setting "Aquarius," the early morning singing-song "Good Morning, Starshine" and the stirring finale (added in 1968) that starts with a complaint about the government’s "newest lies" and builds to the demand: "Let the Sunshine In." This call to action is a worthy successor to the best Kurt Weill-Bertholt Brecht anthems. The rock band called Cowboy Diplomacy is excellent.
Some Hair fans compare the show to Hamlet because of Claude’s indecision about whether or not to burn his draft card and/or show up for his induction. And they point to a song using Shakespeare’s lines from Hamlet: "What a piece of work is man." But this is a stretch. I see "What a piece..." as a companion to the song that precedes and follows it, "Walking in Space," which naturally leads into Shakespeare speaking of "this goodly frame, the earth...this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire." Ragni and Rado add: "How dare they try to end this beauty?" In context, it has nothing to do with Hamlet or indecision; it refers to the earth’s environment.
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