Review - Passing Strange: The Music And The Mirror

Though I hadn't seen Passing Strange during its earlier stint Off-Broadway, I took my seat well aware that writers and critics and audience members alike have been grasping for the words that best describe the type of theatrical entertainment that has now settled into the Belasco Theatre. Two and a half hours later I believe I was able to succinctly categorize Passing Strange in its truest form. Now, please pay attention because I put a lot of thought into this.

It's a musical comedy.

I'm sure that the show's creators, Stew (book, music, lyrics), Heidi Rodewald (music) and Anne Dorsen (director, co-creator) had no intention of writing a musical comedy and for all I know they would probably describe the piece another way (most likely using words like "personal journey" and "concert-theatre") but in my mind it's got a story, characters, actors playing parts, lots of funny stuff and songs that move things along. That adds up to musical comedy to me.

And it's quite an enjoyable one, too! It's cleverly presented, tuneful, often hilarious, told with a jaunty style, has got a bit of a message and even though its author, Stew (founder and leader of the pop-rock combo known as The Negro Problem - I love that name), is also the star, the casual evening never takes itself too seriously.

Though Stew has the kind of look often associated with a blues man (he's a husky, bald black man wearing a loose-fitting dark suit, a bright crimson shirt and black-rimmed glasses) he's really a rocker whose axe is a guitar. As he takes center stage for most of the evening, the four other musicians, including Rodewald on bass, surround him on all sides in their own personal on-stage orchestra pits, a neat visual by set designer David Korins.

The story Stew narrates, through song, poetry and the occasional wisecrack, was actually inspired by President George W. Bush. When Stew found out that the most powerful leader in the world had not been to Europe until after he was elected president - that he had grown up with the money to make it happen but not the curiosity to connect with other cultures - he took to the pen to create a semi-autobiographical Candide-ish story of a 1970s black youth (a spunky and innocent Daniel Breaker plays the character called "Youth") raised in an upper middle class area of Los Angeles and his quest to find his "real." Oh, and to have lots of sex, too. Developing an appreciation for gospel music around the time he noticed the hot girl in the church choir (De'Adre Aziza), his interest in developing his own sound takes him to Amsterdam where he loses his virginity in a threesome, gives his girlfriend a variation on the "it's not you, it's me" speech, and heads to Berlin (it's the 80s by now) where he becomes the pride and joy of an artist commune by convincing the other residents - who wanted to kick him out because his music lacked signs of suffering - that he's a survivor of the mean streets of Compton. What makes the story work so well is that while Youth sets forth on his personal journey (yeah, I said it) with earnestness, Stew observes and comments on it all with the amusement and realistic humor that comes with age and experience.

The score, recommended listening for long stretches on the interstate, offers the kind of loud, hard-driving guitar rock best heard in tiny, sticky-floored, over-crowded dives when the heart of the piece demands it and takes on a clear, theatre music sensibility when the story-telling requires it. My vote for the best new theatre song of the season thus far goes to "The Black One," which plays on the title's double meaning by having Youth dancing about minstrel-show style while the pain-adoring artists (though the actors are black the characters they play are white) sing praises of the stereotype of underprivilege that helps him "pass for black." Their adoration matches Desdemona's sympathy for the Moor's youthful sufferings in Shakespeare's Othello, which she calls "passing strange" and "wondrous pitiful."

Breaker nicely handles Youth's rising maturity and though the rest of the fine company plays little more than quick sketches of characters they still make strong impressions, particularly Colman Domingo as a ranting performance artist and Eisa Davis as Youth's lovingly protective mom. Director Dorsen and choreographer Karole Armitage keep the proceedings brisk and the visuals interesting.

But the centerpiece of the evening is Stew, whose intimate, seemingly off-the-cuff performance makes the Belasco Theatre feel like a dark, musty basement hole-in-the-wall at 3am.