With a score including such enduring musical numbers as "Let the Sunshine In," "Aquarius," "Hair" and "Good Morning Starshine," Hair depicts the the birth of a cultural movement in the 60's and 70's that changed America forever: the musical follows a group of hopeful, free-spirited young people who advocate a lifestyle of pacifism and free-love in a society riddled with intolerance and brutality during the Vietnam War. As they explore sexual identity, challenge racism, experiment with drugs and burn draft cards, the "tribe" in Hair creates an irresistable message of 'hope' that continues to resonate with audiences 40 years later.
This acclaimed production played Central Park last summer.
If you want to know why this joyous revival, which opened Tuesday at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre, is so successful, you need not look any farther than the show's first-act finale. No, not its brief display of nudity, but what is happening around it. In this moment of Dionysian frenzy, creators Gerome Ragni, James Rado and Galt MacDermot have neatly encapsulated the musical's themes. As the hippie tribe chants of beads, flowers, freedom and happiness, Claude, one of show's leads, poignantly sings, 'Why do I live, why do I die, tell me where do I go, tell me why.' Director Diane Paulus has done an extraordinary job in illuminating these two conflicting ideas — the clash of spontaneity and the search for identity — ideas that pulse through much of the evening. Paulus, along with choreographer Karole Armitage, are superb guiding spirits, galvanizing an energetic, appealing cast that has gotten better and better since the Public Theater's outdoor production last year.
Without those terrific little pop tarts (as they're dubbed by a tourist character in the show), Hair would be little more than a trippy rock concert. It lacks a strong story line: Claude gets drafted, Claude goes to Vietnam, let the sun shine in. The sheer diversity of Galt MacDermot's music — folk, pop, R&B, acid rock — can be jarring, groundbreaking as it was in 1967. And the protracted Act 2 hallucination — featuring Abe Lincoln, Aretha Franklin, and a trio of homicidal nuns — will harsh anyone's buzz. Yet the antiwar message still resonates all too well, as do Gerome Ragni and James Rado's lyrics, Timothy Leary references notwithstanding. (Pity that so much is overamplified, because you want to hear the irreverent words of 'Sodomy' and 'Black Boys.')
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