Review - Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version: It Might As Well Be Spring

Let me put it this way... If Spring Awakening was the kind of show that made you feel good about the future of the American musical, I'd say there's a fine chance you'll enjoy Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version. On the other hand, if you couldn't for the life of you stand one moment of Spring Awakening, or at the very least was of the humble opinion that it was far from the ground-breaking musical theatre revolution so many proclaimed it to be, I'd say there's a very good chance you will looooooooooooooove Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version.

Now, I'm not saying for certain that director/bookwriter Alex Timbers (co-creator of A Very Merry Unauthorized Children's Scientology Pageant) and composer/lyricist Michael Friedman (writer of playfully irreverent songs for The Civilians) are aiming their satirical darts directly at the Tony-winning Duncan Sheik/Stephen Sater hit, but it sure as heck seems that way for their musical's all-important mood-establishing first five minutes. The attractive, young cast - clad by Emily Rebholz in hot variations of 19th Century American garb - assemble on Donyale Werle set (a rustic saloon that looks converted into a 21st Century garage band dive bar) and stare out at the audience with contemporary attitudes and looks of glazed sexuality before the thin, pretty guy with thick, dark hair (Benjamin Walker as Andrew Jackson) announces, "I'm wearing some tight, tight jeans and tonight we're delving into some serious, serious shit."

Next, an emo rocker cowboy asks the musical question, "Why wouldn't you / Ever go out with me in school? / You always went out / With those guys / Who thought they were so cool." Other emo rocker cowboys reassure him that, "It's the early Nineteenth Century / And we're gonna take this country back," and soon the whole cast is performing simple, repetitive dance moves to the catchy anthem, "Populism, Yea, Yea!" while Justin Townsend's concert lighting makes periodic attempts to blind as many viewers as possible.

But as the ninety minute freestyle vaudeville disguised as a biography of our sixth president impishly scurries about, it becomes more evident that Timbers and Friedman are more specifically taking aim at the conventions followed by so-called unconventional musicals where writers and composers with little or no background in musical theatre find their loose dramaturgy, near-rhyming and foggy symbolism hailed as a reinvention of the art form.

The practice of having period characters singing in vulgar contemporary vernacular (a technique that goes at least as far back as Rodger and Hart's rebellious A Connecticut Yankee) is mocked to its over-analytical extremes as our hero sings, "Life sucks / My life sucks in particular." Vague symbolism is kicked in the pants in a scene where our future president bonds with his future wife (Maria Elena Ramirez) as he teaches her the pleasures of self-inflicted bleeding. The song, "Illness As Metaphor," has a third character commenting, "It's not blood. / It's a metaphor for love. / These aren't veins, / Just the beating of my heart. / The fever isn't real. / It represents how I feel. / My pain transformed into art," as the couple splash each other with a basinful of the red stuff while furiously making out. Even the title of the fully staged production, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version, smacks of spoofing the kind of high-energy rock concert staging that excites crowds and ignores subtext.

Underneath it all, of course, is the story of the first American president not to come out of Virginian wealth or Massachusetts intelligentsia (a/k/a being an Adams); elected on the strength of his campaign's obtuse logic of kicking out the "Injuns" and giving America back to the people. (His intense hatred of the British, the Spanish and George Washington serve as subplots.) While there are scattered references to made Reagan, Clinton, Obama and the Bushes, Jackson doesn't seem to represent anything more than the all-too-frequent emergence of a populist symbol of hope who is terrific at getting elected but lacking when it comes to actual service. Walker is great fun as a callow, sexy, empty-headed jingoist driven by hated who sees no choice but to turn tyrannical in order to survive the realities of politics.

Timbers has a very appealing supporting company working with knockabout comedy fury with especially hilarious supporting turns from Colleen Werthmann as an overly perky, wheelchair-bound, quadriplegic lesbian narrator with a goofy sweater and Jeff Hiller playing John Quincy Adams as a privileged nerd with an annoyingly winy mannerisms.

While Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version is presented as part of the Public Theater's Public LAB series, and thus meant to be evaluated as a work in progress, the wild antics taking place on their Shiva stage are quite polished. The last twenty minutes or so can use some trimming, as the serious issues of Jackson's manifest destiny beliefs are seen through more humanist eyes, but otherwise the piece looks ready for continued life on the island once occupied by the Wappingers.

Photo by Joan Marcus: Benjamin Walker and Company

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