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If you can picture Jesus singing
the blues, then Ted Neeley just might be
the "Superstar" for you.
He's been doing this gig off and on since
the movie version of "Jesus Christ
Superstar" premiered in 1973, two years
after the rock opera by then-wunderkinds
Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice opened on
Broadway.
While the current national tour is
beginning to show its road weariness -
three understudies performed opening night
at Tilles Center - Neeley's Christ retains
an edge with his soaringly raspy voice
reminiscent of David Clayton-Thomas of
Blood, Sweat and Tears, the '70s
rock-and-blues band. Despite this
production's uneven cast and cheesy
trimmings, "Jesus Christ Superstar"
remains as one of the more satisfying
creations of either Webber or Rice, the
musical superstars who thereafter went
their separate mega-hit ways.
In this heavily miked rock concert of a
show, Neeley's plaintive wailings work
best in anger - as in "The Temple," where
Jesus muscles up on the money-changers,
and the transcendent "Gethsemane," where
he bemoans his fate to God. But aside from
his beatific smile, Neeley's Jesus is
mostly a pain. There's little warmth to
his gentle side. Only in scenes with Mary
Magdalene, heart-breakingly sung by
Christine Rea in "I Don't Know How to Love
Him," does Neeley allow Jesus to let down
his guard.
Of course, with friends like Judas
Iscariot, you'd be uptight, too. Fernand
Roderick, who played the role opening
night in Gary Rowland's place, presents a
particularly grating Judas. Alternately
impatient and inconsolable, Roderick's
Judas is consistently heavy-handed,
undermining the self-inflicted tragedy of
his betrayal.
Jason Raize, on the other hand, manages to
create a complex Pontius Pilate, though no
amount of makeup can disguise his
excessive youth for the role. Raize is 19.
More villainous than any of these is
understudy David Bannick, who growls
ferociously as Caiaphas, the temple elder
with no patience for Jesus' blasphemy.
P.J. Terranova strikes a cliched but still
amusing King-Herod-as-Elvis pose.
Whatever its shortcomings, the cast -
helped by a crisp rock accompaniment
coaxed by music director Jo Lynn Burks -
far outshines what is otherwise a rather
chintzy production. Even the chorus for
the title number is short on backup
singers. Scenery, where it exists, stands
in tacky contrast to the void on stage -
from the inflatable giant Jesus meant to
convey a carnival atmosphere in the temple
to the golden glow of the lighted cross at
Calvary, ringed with concertina wire.
Costumes look like hand-me-downs from some
hippie/gypsy show, perhaps the soulmate
"Godspell." In lieu of special effects and
inspiration, there's a misty haze overhead
and blinding lights directed straight at
the audience.
But you still get to hear Jesus singing
the blues.
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