Review: American Stage in the Park’s Hairspray finds utopia in 1962 Baltimore

When all the cast members of Hairspray combine at show’s end to sing “You Can’t Stop The Beat,” it’s pretty clear that they’re not talking about the inevitability of good percussion. No, the “beat” that’s unstoppable, according to Tracy Turnblad and her two dozen colleagues, is the movement for human rights, for black and gay and even oversize-woman equality. That’s what Hairspray, in the joyous production at American Stage in the Park, is patently about: the coming of a truly liberal society, in which every sort of bigotry is put out with the morning trash, and American difference is celebrated, loved, and treasured.

Is this too heavy a message for one often silly musical to bear? Not at all: with its sure touch, emblematic characters, and singleness of purpose, Hairspray gives us an America in which good people win, intolerance is ended, and true love turns from its glittery, unworthy objects to the sincere, caring beings who deserve it most of all. A wish-fulfillment? You betcha. But a glimpse of utopia never stopped anyone from dreaming. And a couple of hours with Hairspray will only revivify your best intentions.

As you may already know (if you saw the John Waters movie, for example), Hairspray is about Tracy Turnblad (the impeccable Allyson Pace), an overweight teen in 1962 Baltimore who has three dreams: to win a spot on TV’s Corny Collins dance show, to integrate her city, and to win the love of singer Link Larkin (dashing David Michael Bevis). Affecting Tracy’s efforts in one way or another are her mother Edna (the irrepressible Matthew McGee in drag), Corny Collins show producer Velma Van Tussle (wonderful Alison Burns at her most vicious), and Velma’s narcissistic daughter Amber (terrific Meredith Pughe), who has a prior claim on Link and, by the way, wants her Baltimore lily white. But when Tracy meets African American Seaweed J. Stubbs (excellent Deejay Young) and Motormouth Maybelle (hyper-talented Jayne Trinette), she strives to put her naïve instinct for racial harmony into practice. And because this is the theater, she has a real chance; it may turn out that 1962 will be a top year for Civil Rights. If you think you know better, you’re missing the point: things could be different than they are. All we’re lacking is a vision as unbeatable as Tracy Turnblad’s.

The American Stage production is tiptop. On Jerid Fox’s pop art set, the singing, dancing cast of Hairspray is united in its loving commitment to a two-dimensional America wherein the best people are only slightly flawed and the worst are so bad, any ordinary Palooka can learn to reject them. The 16 songs (music and lyrics by Marc Shaiman, lyrics by Scott Wittman) are catchy if not unforgettable, and the dialogue (by Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan) is consistently ironic without ever becoming mean-spirited. But the real key to the show’s success is its bright performances, none of which ever strays into the world of gritty realism. So consider Scott Daniel as Corny Collins. This is a performance that raises superficiality to its Platonic height: not for a moment is this emcee more than a face and an indelible smile. Or consider Pughe as Amber: she’s spoiled, demanding, self-obsessed and so shallow that you would have to be blind and deaf not to want good-hearted Tracy to best her. Trinette as Motormouth is all wisdom, Thomas Mothershed as Tracy’s father Wilbur is all earnestness, and Bevis as Link is a sort of Elvis without a private depth: his outside is all there is, so don’t look any further.

Perhaps the most complex character is Edna, who after all, is played by a man, but who mostly is concerned about her girth and her laundry business. This is a kind of role McGee has played before, but he brings a gentleness to this version that’s surprisingly poignant. The six-man band, led by Michael Raabe, couldn’t be better, and of course the coherence of the musical wouldn’t exist without the inspired direction and choreography of Shain Stroff. Trish Kelly designed the colorful costumes.

If there’s one element that’s most striking about Hairspray, it would have to be the show’s faux-naïve attitude toward what, in real life, can seem intractable problems. By ignoring the daunting complexity of race, gender, and body-image in American society, this musical offers us an idea of what might be if we could see past the variety of human surfaces to the shared humanity within. It’s not often that a musical – and a comedy to boot – is so cannily subversive. That it’s also entertaining is icing on the cake.

 

 

   

This article appears in Apr 27 – May 4, 2017.