Keeping the action so tightly trained on this is McAnuff's most brilliant stroke in a take on this musical (which was first seen on Broadway in 1971) that is otherwise effective but mostly workmanlike. Members of the company trudge about in nondescript hipster-slum costumes (by Paul Tazewell), usually either trailing Jesus like lost puppies or blocking his way until they get what they demand. The religious leaders who are Jesus's most consistent antagonists are swathed in dark, threatening hues (most of them have voices to match) that leave no uncertainty as to whose side they're on. The temple from which Jesus ejects the moneylenders could easily be mistaken for a West Village leather bar, and King Herod's throne room for a punk fetish massage parlor. The towering crucifix at the end is lined with light bulbs. You get the idea.
A general lack of theatrical electricity doesn't help matters. Regardless of whether the (talented) ensemble is worshipping the man they revere as their god in a literal stadium or screaming for his death before the governor Pontius Pilate, they don't behave as though there's a great deal at stake. (Lisa Shriver's choreography is plentiful, but too constrained to ever communicate ecstatic abandon.) And though something is always in motion onstage (usually Sean Nieuwenhuis's video projections, either on an enormous screen backdrop or a stock ticker closer to the middle), Robert Brill's set is so time-, space-, and feeling-independent that you spend your time staring at it wondering whether it was borrowed from McAnuff's own production of Jersey Boys playing just across the street at the August Wilson.
The magic of Jesus Christ Superstar, however, is that it's so smartly and engagingly written that it can absorb more directorial foot-shuffling than most musicals.
The effect is of a mildly naughty floor show at Caesars Palace. And in fact Las Vegas, where Mr. McAnuff’s “Jersey Boys” has recently reopened, might be the ideal destination for this slick production of a show that turns martyrdom into a splashy pop spectacle. Nothing like witnessing a Crucifixion to whet your appetite for the slot machines.
Thank you, Isherwood!
Listen, I don't take my clothes off for anyone, even if it is "artistic". - JANICE
Not a bad one, Blaxx! I don't understand why the NYT doesn't hire better reviewers. I actually like Isherwood better than Brantley and even this review falls very flat. The few funny lines not withstanding that are more an attempt to show us that he's clever rather than provide any insight into the show, the review has very little substance.
Anyways, looks like a pretty mixed bag for Superstar overall.
Scratch and claw for every day you're worth!
Make them drag you screaming from life, keep dreaming
You'll live forever here on earth.
^It really doesn't. He clearly doesn't like the material in general, but he did at least have nice things to say about the cast and there's a little love letter to Josh Young stuck in there.
Agreed. Reading older reviews where there was thought provoking analysis really emphasizes how bad the vast majority of modern theatre "reviewing" has become. If I knew nothing else about that show, after reading Isherwood's review, I honestly don't even know what I would take from it.
Scratch and claw for every day you're worth!
Make them drag you screaming from life, keep dreaming
You'll live forever here on earth.
I dunno. That NY Post review seems too sarcastic to be called positive. I'd say mixed at best. It does, after all, end by saying that maybe next time Des will get the story right.