If negotiated well, a 2024 production of this Vietnam-era protest musical could look as fresh as a flower on a reservist's gun barrel, leaving macro-issue sociopolitical repercussions aside for a moment. . I attended the opening of Signature Theater. It's a direct rendition of a conversation I had with my teenage nephew, whose hoop dreams are gone and their relationship has just evaporated. That's perhaps why the essential sweetness and fragility of the struggling adolescents in “Hairs” left the biggest impression on me this time.
Free love, psychedelic drugs, and, ah, men realizing they can love each other, the show's once-radical content is so thoroughly portrayed that it no longer needs to work. But in an America where children are unsure of their place in the world and almost fanatically eager to find a better way to live in the world, Matthew Gardiner's frenetic and light-hearted work certainly does. There it is – and it hit right in that tender spot where I usually get bile.
You probably know the big songs like “Aquarius,” “Let the Sunshine In,” and “Good Morning Starshine.” Backed by Angie Benson's enthusiastic eight-piece band, the cast of Signature Theater sells these songs with all their heart. Expect to see a spring tentpole production from a powerhouse of American musical theater. The physical staging also hits the mark, with costumes by Kathleen Geldard that appear to be made entirely of linen and patchouli, and a crammed set (by Paige Hathaway) that condenses proceedings for the audience. That's all. Booted by a tightly integrated video and lighting scheme (by Patrick W. Lord and Jason Lyons), this frame shares the night Peter's Max's lunchbox unfolds inside one of his radios. It can make you feel like a hallucination.
But what I always forget is that the “Hair” writing team (Gald McDermott, Jerome Ragni, James Rado) gave two acts that could easily have been one tight piece a throwaway film that doesn't deserve praise. It is packed with many pastiche numbers. time on stage. (Looking at you, York's cynical satire of flag-waving, and perhaps even you, uninspired riffs on federal agencies with memorable initials.) Will dangling like a lone clothespin in a non-existent plotline mean that the delicate but not iconoclastic Claude will be involved? What about the other men in his “tribe” who burn his draft cards and insist on the status quo? — doesn't help move the show along faster.
So even in a top-notch commercial revival like Diane Paulus's, which opened in Central Park in 2007 and then toured nationally at the Kennedy Center, “Hair” feels like an exercise in diminishing returns. There is a possibility that it will be felt. “Aquarius” opens with a blast of honest surprise as it explores, and “Let the Sunshine In”’s authentic anthem-like ecstasy is hard to believe in “Hairs.” , leaving the audience feeling as if they have been taken to church. Counterculture warriors may find this metaphor appealing. But in between, minor, less influential songs come and go, and their 60s-flavored shots of midcentury monoculture don't feel as sour as they once did.
Gem in the Gravel is a number that sketches some exciting moments for the characters in a show that doesn't have much to offer. “Where Do I Go” for Claude who lacks confidence. In the exquisite “Frank Mills,” a young woman rhapsodizes about a connection perhaps overlooked but still possible. And while “I Got Life” is a bland list of body parts on the page, in the hands of its signature sexy, sweaty thespians, it's an irresistible bop of lust. is.
The sensationalists, by the way, are sinuous, bouncy, rich in every imaginable shape and hue, synchronized and precise, eager to connect, and bright, with Ashley King's vivacious choreography. They have facial features and sly eyes, and they just seem to be having fun. . With hands and bodies in such well-trained, boldly confident ensembles, even messy old museum pieces like “Hair” can get up and move.
hair, through July 7 at the Signature Theater in Arlington, Virginia. Approximately 2 hours and 30 minutes including a break. sigtheater.org.