No matter how much money you sink into a production, it doesn’t necessarily make it better. A hard lesson learned, but such is the case with “Hair,” in its current glossy incarnation touring the Kennedy Center.
If you didn’t live through the 1960s, or slept through the entire Vietnam era section of history class, then perhaps “Hair” might seem a bit entertaining, at least. It’s certainly more than a bit jovial in parts, and the racy, rock-inspired show has always been willing to flaunt its well-deserved Bad Boy of Musical Theatre image. But if you happen to remember life in the peace-craving ’60s, or have ever picked up an American history book, then Diane Paulus’ over-produced and under-developed version of “Hair” might leave you ready to pull out all of yours.
Never mind its glaring over-amplification and the throngs of actors running up and down the aisles of the Opera House in artless mayhem. One can even forgive the terribly repetitive, wholly unimaginative choreography from Karole Armitage. The real tragedy of this replication of “The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical” is that, if you’re not familiar with its already threadbare plot, then don’t try to understand anything going on up on stage, with its muddled movement and inexplicable staging. And good luck trying to decipher any of Gerome Ragni and James Rado’s culture-clever lyrics, as the vocals are forced to compete against a stinging electric guitar and cluttered rock band ensemble.
In fact, “Hair” opens with what looks like just a bunch of kids strung-out and hyper-manic, spinning their wheels in what seems like a cartoon version of the East Village in the late ’60s. They stumble through a dozen or so numbers before the whole mumbled musical collage suddenly springs to life in, well, “I Got Life.” So you take away that everything was just sunshine and daffodils ’til some dude named Claude is drafted. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Truth is, it was 1967 and American youth everywhere were dodging the draft, getting high on LSD and PCP and taking the IRT to escape the harsh downer that is life. Here, they’re seen smugly burning their draft cards — an act of defiance recently rendered illegal — until Claude suffers an attack of conscience. Truth is, those kids were more than just scared, or rebellious, they were confused. They were outraged. And to glaze over those feelings of uncertainty and bewilderment in favor of a high-tech rainbow makeover seems, at best, a musical war crime.
With most of its 2009 Broadway “tribe” and design team intact, the company of “Hair” includes only a handful of age-appropriate actors (Berger was supposed to be kicked out of high school, not the third year into his graduate program.) The rest of the cast is like that precocious community theatre production where there’s a part for everybody, regardless of experience (or skill)! Ironically enough, the “flower children” on stage are far more concerned about whether they’re hitting their marks, and if their manes are perfectly in place, than how to project a groovy ’60s vibe. It’s more than just distracting, it’s downright ridiculous. (Picture the cast of “The Hills” meets Free Love.)
Still, there are a few notable bright spots, including Paris Remillard’s ever-sincere Claude and Darius Nichols as Hud, the Everyblackman with his quintessential Afro puff. And you won’t find a more energetic — or older — Berger than Steel Burkhardt, who emanates raw sexual energy and a serious infatuation with the holy herb.
Sadly, there’s nothing even remotely revelatory about this production; it’s a mixed dime bag at its core, a bad trip you never took down Memory Lane. The whole affair is so absent of any notion of reality that its stunning conclusion is rendered to chilling, awe-inspiring effect. Is it possible to glean any emotion after a 2.5 hour windblown spectacle of spacey saccharine? Well yes, it is “Hair,” after all, and despite this revival’s blatant disregard for authenticity, its bleeding anti-establishment heart still beats an eternal ode to the hippie code.
