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music by Marc Shaiman, lyrics by Scott Wittman & Marc Shaiman, book by Mark O’Donnell & Thomas Meehan, directed by Jack O’Brien

Mirvish Productions, Princess of Wales Theatre, Toronto

May 5-September 27, 2004

"A Musical with Hold"

Hairspray, winner of the 2002 Tony Award for Best Musical, is like the bouffant hair-dos that feature so prominently in the show—lots of air and little substance.  Just as an external lacquer keeps those ‘dos in shape, so the musical is held together by the highly inventive 1960s-style music of Marc Shaiman and the clever lyrics of Shaiman and Scott Wishman.  In fact, Hairspray is the first Tony-Award-winning musical since Crazy for You in 1992 that is actually jam-packed with one good song from start to finish.  

The musical is based on the 1988 John Waters film of the same title, the least offensive he ever made.   The musical like the film is really a satiric fairy-tale constructed from 1960s kitsch and pop references.  In 1962 Baltimore, chubby, bubbly Tracy Turnblad dreams of one day appearing on her favourite television dance show, the local American Bandstand rip-off called “The Corny Collins Show”.  Despite the fact that Tracy looks nothing like the slim teenaged in-crowd called “The Council”, when a vacancy opens, Tracy, who knows she’s a better dancer than most of the Council, decides to audition.  Producer and former beauty-queen Velma Von Tussle and hairspray sponsor Harriman F. Spritzer laugh her out of the theatre.  When they also do so to black girl Little Inez, Tracy sees the link between lookism and racism and assumes the new goal of fully integrating “The Corny Collins Show” that sets aside only one day per month for “Negro Day”.

Reinforcing the theme that “It’s not how you look but what’s inside that counts”, are three couples.  Link Larkin and Amber Von Tussle are the Ken and Barbie of the Council, but when Link and Tracy’s eyes meet, it’s true love.  They literally hear bells ring.  The same happens when Tracy’s best friend, the white  Penny Pingleton, meets Little Inez’s big brother, the black Seaweed J. Stubbs.  And then there are Tracy’s own parents, the thin-as-a-rail Wilbur and his wife Edna, fat-as-whale and ugly-as-sin, played in the film by Waters’ favourite hefty transvestite Divine.

Unlike many faux ‘60s musicals, Shaiman’s score thoroughly gets inside the idiom instead of mocking it.  Many songs like the final “You Can’t Stop the Beat” seem just like the real thing.  Shaiman makes reference to all manner of styles, black and white, from TV commercials to gospel, Elvis-like ballad to novelty number, weepy girl numbers to the Supremes.  Shaiman and Scott Wittman’s lyrics are clever and spiced with unexpected rhymes.  It’s pity that the sound is so often balanced in favour of the 12-man orchestra so that the words aren’t always clear.  The book by Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan doesn’t overcome the lack of forward momentum inherent in the movie’s plot.  In fact, in Act 2, three of the first four numbers, “The Big Dollhouse”, “Timeless to Me” and “I Know Where I’ve Been” completely stop the action rather than move it on.  “I Know Where I’ve Been” is also the sole attempt to treat the pain of segregation seriously in what is clearly not a realistic show.  Luckily, both it and “Timelesss to Me” are so well written and performed that most people will not notice that they are filler.

As Tracy former American Idol contestant Vanessa Olivarez is as bouncy and effervescent as one could wish.  She has a big voice akin to Leslie Gore, though nothing we see really demonstrates that she can dance as well let alone better than Amber Van Tussle.  As Edna, Jay Bazeau looks and sounds a lot more like Jabba the Hutt than Divine, but that only makes the role funnier.  Tom Rooney as Wilbur has a loopy sense of humour that makes it seem almost plausible that such a mild-mannered guy should be in love with the Brobdinganian Edna.  Their duet, “Timeless to Me” is patterned after a vaudeville routine and as performed by Brazeau and Rooney is one of the biggest hits of the show.   

Paul McQuillan is well cast as a Corny Collins managing the difficult task of projecting the TV host’s satirical slickness but suggesting that a social conscience may lurk underneath.  Susan Henley frequently goes over the top as the Velma the villain, while Tara Macri gets the pampered Amber just right.  The same is true of the third mother-daughter pair, Prudy and Penny Pingleton.  Charlotte Moore moves beyond satirical to cartoonish as Penny’s prudish mother and doesn’t differentiate her character much from her other roles as a gym teacher and jail matron.  Jennifer Stewart, however, does a fine job of transforming the shy, geeky girl we first into the confident, shimmying stunner she becomes at the end.  Michael Torontow is a find as Link, good-looking, rich voiced, who makes the most of his big ballad “It Takes Two”.   

It’s unfortunate in a show with the nominal theme of integration that we should know so much less about its black characters.  Record store owner Motormouth Mabel and her daughter Little Inez should form a fourth mother-daughter pair, but they have little interaction to bring out this parallel.  With a powerful voice and stage presence, Fran Jaye puts everything into her two big numbers “Big, Blond and Beautiful” and “I Know Where I’ve Been” and deservedly receives the biggest applause of the evening .  Matthew Morgan as Mable’s son Seaweed has mastered an amazing double-jointed look in his dancing.  Shennel Campbell is a charmer as Little Inez.  Lisa Bell, Karen Burthwright and Starr Domingue as so good as the Supremes clones The Dynamites, one wishes they had another number besides “Welcome to the ‘60s”.   

Director Jack O’Brien moves the action along at a brisk pace but even so he could make the shift from scene to scene snappier.  He’s clearly learned a few tricks from Phyllida Lloyd’s Mamma Mia in how to poke fun at the clichés in a number while its being performed.  David Rockwell’s forced perspective sets and use of parabolic shapes are key in locating the action in a fantasy version of the ‘60s.  William Ivey Long seems to view the ‘60s as the epitome of bad taste.  His truly outré costumes use such violently clashing hues and patterns that the stage may burst with bright colours but is often fairly painful to the eye.  Kenneth Posner cleverly recreates a number TV studio lighting effects that immediately conjure up the period.  Jerry Mitchell’s choreography revisits a wide range of ‘60s moves but seems to run out of invention in Act 2.  The dance corps itself is enthusiastic but is not as precise as it should be.

As long as one doesn’t try to invest it with too much meaning, Hairspray is a highly entertaining diversion.  It doesn’t have the same emotional build up of a show like Mamma Mia and is therefore ultimately not as engaging.  As is usually true of satire, we tend to look at the characters from the outside rather than feeling directly involved with them.  Yet, given the strength of its memorable music, Hairspray is more likely than most recently musicals to have a long life beyond its initial production.

©Christopher Hoile

Note: This review is a Stage Door exclusive.

Photo: Vanessa Olivarez and Jay Brazeau. ©2004 Mirvish Productions.