Review: ALICIA KEYS' HELL'S KITCHEN at Denver Center For The Performing Arts
Engaging performances and choreography add spark to a predictable story
Alicia Keys’ Hell’s Kitchen at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts tells a perfectly coherent story—it’s just not a very interesting one. An overprotective mother badgers her daughter to stay safely in her apartment and away from the glitz, glamour, and danger of those pernicious New York City Streets; a father forges an emotional and artistic connection with his daughter, but is only there for her inconsistently; a young, naïve girl is looking for love in all the wrong places. We get it… it’s a coming-of-age story with Alicia Keys’ music. Despite its predictable story, Hell’s Kitchen clearly moves its audience, thanks in large part to its performers and choreography, but that goodwill is ultimately undercut by shallow characterization and unearned resolution.
At the heart of the story is Ali (played by Maya Drake) who has music at her very core. This internal artistry is the strongest point of the entire production. From a symphony in many styles on the elevator in her building’s artist residence to the warm lights exploding around her as she discovers her passion for the piano (projection design by Peter Nigrini), Ali’s musical interiority can’t help but show itself on the surface. The audience can’t help but root for Maya Drake, whom the program informs us is fresh out of high school and stepping foot onto her first professional stage. Her performance is ruthlessly alive – she’s a gifted narrator, vividly imagining each moment and pulling the audience along with her. She also believably plays a dumb-butt teenager, Kool-Aid-Man style smashing her way through people, relationships, and better judgment with an adolescent grin on her face the whole time. Drake has a beautiful voice that is significantly underserved by the Buell Theatre’s sound system; too often, it fails to rise above the ensemble and orchestra. The result is lyrics lost, harmonies muddied, and a performance that feels smaller than it is. While one might argue she simply needs to sing past the mic, asking that eight shows a week, across a nearly three-hour score full of Alicia Keys’ high riffs, would be unreasonable even for a seasoned professional—and should not be laid at the feet of a debut performer.
Camille A. Brown’s choreography sings (well… dances) throughout the entire production, adding to Ali’s inner artistry by making New York City Streets come to life through bouncy, ebullient, youthful movement. In this production, Christopher Miller was astounding, his long lines and finished, polished movements drawing the eye at every turn. To single someone out, however, shouldn’t undermine every dancer’s extraordinary talent which was highlighted, in turn, by Brown’s choreography, showing the inner lives of individual New Yorkers. Brown’s choreography ultimately deepens the musical by revealing not just what the characters feel, but why they feel it—most strikingly in Knuck’s (played soulfully by JonAvery Worrell) solo “Gramercy Park”, where the ensemble evokes a history of persecution that renders his fear not fleeting, but fully justified.
In terms of vitality, it would be foolish not to note the off-the-wall charisma and buttery voice of Desmond Sean Ellington in the role of Davis, Ali’s inconsistent father. Early in Act 2, Ellington delivers “Fallin’” in an attempt to rekindle a relationship with his ex-partner, who ultimately rebukes him, noting—correctly—that charm doesn’t feed or support a family. I wouldn’t have had the wits for such a rebuke. That man seduces the whole dang audience. Though Davis is written as unreliable and ultimately sidelined, Ellington makes a compelling case for his presence every time he steps onstage.
Ali’s mother, Jersey (played in a special appearance by Kelsee Kimmel, who also played the role on Broadway), brings undeniable vocal power, earning a mid-show standing ovation for “Pawn It All.” But that power isn’t matched by the writing. Jersey is introduced as an overprotective mother determined to keep her biracial daughter safe from the “mean streets” of 1990s New York, a fear that escalates into harm when she slaps Ali and calls the police on Knuck—a choice with potentially lethal consequences. The musical clearly understands the gravity of that action, but it never requires Jersey to grapple with it.
Instead, the conflict between Jersey and Ali resolves in a tidy, “No One”-scored reconciliation that feels entirely unearned. Jersey emerges unchanged, still clinging to the same controlling instincts that defined her at the start of the show, even as the narrative asks us to accept her as its emotional center. This lack of accountability is especially striking given how seriously the production treats the broader context around her actions.
The production gives real weight to the over-policing of young Black men—through Knuck’s storyline, Brown’s choreography, Peter Nigrini’s projections (which include images of historical figures such as Amadou Diallo), and Roz White’s emotionally real and commanding performance as Miss Liza Jane, a black mentor figure who has borne witness to the struggle. These elements make the danger feel immediate and historically grounded. And yet, by allowing Jersey to evade any meaningful reckoning with her own complicity, the musical ultimately undercuts that work. The result edges toward what Peter Brook described as “deadly theatre”—a production that gestures at serious ideas, renders them beautifully, and then leaves them fundamentally unchanged.
Hell’s Kitchen has all the ingredients of something powerful: a compelling central performance, dynamic choreography, and a clear sense of the world it wants to evoke. But by prioritizing resolution over reckoning, it ultimately softens its own edges. The result is a production that looks and sounds vibrant, even as it leaves its most urgent questions unresolved.
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