Hair on Broadway 2009
Lions Love
The Beginnings
Hair Toronto
Hair national tour,1995
Theater Zone Florida 2008 reviews
New Line Theatre, St-Louis 2008

A Frizzy, Fizzy Welcome to the Untamed ’60s


You'll be happy to hear that the kids are all right. Quite a bit more than all right. Having moved indoors to Broadway from the Delacorte Theater in Central Park — where last summer they lighted up the night skies, howled at the moon and had ticket seekers lining up at dawn — the young cast members of Diane Paulus's thrilling revival of "Hair" show no signs of becoming domesticated.

On the contrary, they're tearing down the house in the production that opened on Tuesday night at the Al Hirschfeld Theater. And any theatergoer with a pulse will find it hard to resist their invitation to join the demolition crew. This emotionally rich revival of "The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical" from 1967 delivers what Broadway otherwise hasn't felt this season: the intense, unadulterated joy and anguish of that bi-polar state called youth.


Yes, I know there was a musical called "13," about being exactly that age, that opened last fall, and that a lyrical revival of "West Side Story" is now playing to packed houses only a few blocks away. But what distinguishes "Hair" from other recent shows about being young is the illusion it sustains of rawness and immediacy, an un-self-conscious sense of the most self-conscious chapter in a person's life.

Notice I did say "illusion." Ms. Paulus and her creative team have worked hard at their seamless spontaneity. Karole Armitage's happy hippie choreography, with its group gropes and mass writhing, looks as if it's being invented on the spot. But there's intelligent form within the seeming formlessness. And the whole production has been shaped in ways that find symmetry — and complexity — in a show that people tend to remember as a feel-good free-for-all.

"Hair" has a history of defying expectations. Gerome Ragni, James Rado and Galt MacDermot's portrait of living low and staying high in the East Village was, by all accounts, a mess up to the day it opened for previews at the Public Theater in 1967, with a last-minute switch of directors and several wholesale restagings. It was not an obvious candidate for the Broadway transfer it made the following year (with a new director, Tom O'Horgan, and a streamlined book). But of course it ran and ran, for 1,750 performances, and became the last original Broadway musical to introduce more than a couple of Top 40 hits.

Its latest resurrection, however, may be the most surprising of all. "The show is the first Broadway musical in some time to have the authentic voice of today rather than the day before yesterday," wrote Clive Barnes in The New York Times when "Hair" opened in 1968. "Authentic voices of today" tend to grow cracked and quaint with age. A 1977 revival, which ran for 43 performances, suggested that "Hair" was strictly a show for its time, not for the ages.

That there's nothing of the museum — or, worse, of the vintage jukebox — about Ms. Paulus's production isn't because she's reinterpreted or even reframed it. She does what Bartlett Sher did for "South Pacific" last year, finding depths of character and feeling in what most people dismissed as dried corn. It's not so much what Ms. Paulus brings to "Hair"; it's what she brings out of it, vital elements that were always waiting to be rediscovered.

Most important, she clearly knew early that "Hair" isn't just a celebration of the counterculture it depicts. The young folks here who sleep, trip and protest together may spout the philosophy of "peace, love, freedom, happiness." But, hey, they're all mostly in the waning days of their adolescence, a time when moods swing wide and adulthood looms as a suffocating shadow.

The kids of "Hair" are cuddly, sweet, madcap and ecstatic. They're also angry, hostile, confused and scared as hell — and not just of the Vietnam War, which threatens to devour the male members of their tribe. They're frightened of how the future is going to change them and of not knowing what comes next. Acting out the lives of the adults they disdain (a charade at which Andrew Kober, Theo Stockman and Megan Lawrence are particularly expert) becomes a cathartic ritual.

Ms. Paulus vividly establishes the show's essential dichotomy in the first number, when she brings two performers to center stage. On the one hand, there's Dionne (Sasha Allen), who leads the anthemic "Age of Aquarius" with soaring spirits and unimpeachable authority; on the other, standing to Dionne's right, there's Crissy (Allison Case), with a scrunched-up face and contorted posture that read like a plea for help, shelter and attention.

They all want attention, of course. Who doesn't at that age? At least except when you're longing to be invisible, like Claude (Gavin Creel), a young man who's about to be drafted, who leads the show's most stirring songs of affirmation ("I Got Life") and helplessness ("Where Do I Go").

Though a less flashy and show-offy presence than his best friend, Berger (Will Swenson), Claude is the divided soul of "Hair." At the Delacorte, Jonathan Groff, with his outsider's wistfulness, seemed such a natural in the part that I was sure that the Broadway "Hair" would suffer from his absence. But the pure-voiced Mr. Creel, late of "Mary Poppins," scruffs up real nice. That he seems more a part of the gang than Mr. Groff did somehow makes this Claude come across as more of a bellwether of the group, the one who's most in touch with the ambivalence they're all feeling.

Mr. Creel does not dominate the show; nor does the terrific Mr. Swenson, who finds an edge of cruelty and desperation in the grandstanding Berger; nor does Caissie Levy (an excellent new addition to the cast) as the earnest politico Sheila, the woman both men sort of love.

Every single ensemble member emerges as an individual, each with specific issues and knotty histories that no drug or slogan can resolve. (Even their nudity, and how they flaunt it, in the first-act finale, further defines them.)

After the show I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen to Bryce Ryness's sexually inchoate Woof; Ms. Case's hopeful, fretful Crissy; Darius Nichols's defiant, suspicious Hud; Kacie Sheik's pregnant, cheerily adrift Jeanie; or Ms. Allen's taunting, sensually assured Dionne. I could go on through the entire cast list.

Mr. MacDermot's music, which always had more pop than acid, holds up beautifully, given infectious life by the onstage band and the flavorfully blended voices of the cast. Scott Pask's exposed-wall set is the perfect playground for a world in which imagination (aided by chemical substances) provides the décor.

But of course no stage can contain the hormone-stoked exuberance of those who inhabit it, whether they're yipping, unzipping or tripping, both merrily and scarily. Know that you may find yourself in intimate contact with various dancing, cajoling tribe members. They may give you daisies or leaflets. They may even ask you to embrace them. Not that you haven't already.


The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical

Book and lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado; music by Galt MacDermot; directed by Diane Paulus; choreography by Karole Armitage; sets by Scott Pask; costumes by Michael McDonald; lighting by Kevin Adams; sound by Acme Sound Partners; orchestrations by Mr. MacDermot; music director, Nadia DiGiallonardo; music coordinator, Seymour Red Press; wig design by Gerard Kelly; associate producers, Jenny Gersten, Arielle Tepper Madover, Rebecca Gold/Debbie Bisno, Christopher Hart, Apples and Oranges, Tony and Ruthe Ponturo and Joseph Traina. Presented by the Public Theater, Oskar Eustis, artistic director; and Jeffrey Richards, Jerry Frankel, Gary Goddard Entertainment, Kathleen K. Johnson, Nederlander Productions, Fran Kirmser Productions/Jed Bernstein, Marc Frankel, Broadway Across America, Barbara Manocherian/Wencarlar Productions, J K Productions/Terry Schnuck, Andy Sandberg, Jam Theatricals, Weinstein Company/Norton Herrick, Jujamcyn Theaters; Joey Parnes, executive producer; by special arrangement with Elizabeth Ireland McCann. At the Al Hirschfeld Theater, 302 West 45th Street, Clinton; (212) 239-6200. Running time: 2 hours 20 minutes.

WITH: Sasha Allen (Dionne), Allison Case (Crissy), Gavin Creel (Claude), Andrew Kober (Dad/Margaret Mead), Megan Lawrence (Mother/Buddahdalirama), Caissie Levy (Sheila), Darius Nichols (Hud), Bryce Ryness (Woof), Saycon Sengbloh (Abraham Lincoln), Kacie Sheik (Jeanie), Theo Stockman (Hubert) and Will Swenson (Berger).


The Cover of the Premiere Issue of Andy Warhol's Magazine INTERVIEW - Rado, Viva, Ragni and Agnes Varda on camera.


The New York Times
Monday, September 22, 1969
Movie by Agnes Varda Is Set in Hollywood
The Cast:
LIONS LOVE, written, directed and produced by Agnes Varda.  At the New York Film Festival, Alice Tully Hall, Lincoln Center.  Running time: 115 minutes.
With:  Viva, Gerome Ragni, James Rado, Shirley Clarke, Carlos Clarens and Eddie Constantine.
By Vincent Canby
At its best, Agnes Varda's "Lions Love" is a beautiful, cockeyed movie about a menage a trois - Viva, Gerome Ragni and James Rqado - who live on a Hollywood hilltop in a rented house with a giant bed, a heated swimming pool and plastic plants, mixed with real ones, both indoors and out.
The three performers, who ostensibly play themselves as they wait for the big Hollywood break, couldn't care less about the new morality as defined in a sniggery movie like "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice."  Viva and Jerry and Jim have passed beyond that frontier into a new innocence.  Like three children on an extended sleep-out, they loll about in bed together in the morning, arguing cheerfully about who's going to get the coffee and making crank telephone calls ("Hello, Bank of America?  I'd like to order $200 to go").
Later Viva decides they should have children, but she regards the prospect of pregnancy without enthusiasm.  "Do you think I could go through nine months of it and only come out with one?"  Instead, they    borrow some children to see what the experience might be like - and it's disaster.  The kids refuse to take naps, urinate in the pool and eat nothing but french fries drenched in catchup.  "I think," says Viva, "we have to find another way to spiritual life."
In all of these random details, "Lions Love," which was shown at the New York Film Festival Saturday night and again yesterday afternoon, is very funny, not much different from a television situation comedy, but one that is cool and loose and honest, more adult than most.  It also possesses a sense of time and place.  It's ironic that Miss Varda, whose husband, Jacques Demy, the gifted French director, tried unsuccessfully to capture the banal beauty of Los Angeles in his "The Model Shop," does just that in "Lions Love" without seeming to try very hard.
For about half the time, "Lions Love" is a kind of meta-Warhol movie, which is charming.  Miss Varda has taken Viva, Warhol's most valuable found object, and lit and framed her in a way that brings out the gentle pre-Raphaelite beauty suggested but never realized in things like "Bike Boys," "Lonesome Cowboy" and "Blue Movie."  Miss Varda has also found two perfect foils for Viva in the two stars and authors of "Hair." Rado, blandly handsome and comparatively reserved, and Ragni, who looks and acts lilke a liberated member of the Three Stooges, share Viva's talent for the magnificently convoluted non sequitur.
Unfortunately, Miss Varda has not been content just to doll up a simple, native American genre.  The director, whose French films "Cleo from 5 to 7" and "Le Bonheur" aspired to a seriousness never successfully communicated, has sought to give both Pirandellian and social dimensions to her contemporary fairy tale. 
"Lions Love" tries to suggest multiple levels of reality by posing as a movie within a movie.  Shirley Clarke, the real-life director ("The Connection," "The Cool World"), plays herself, newly arrived in Hollywood to make a New York style underground film with Viva as star.  Throughout "Lions Love" the actors talk to Miss Varda behind the camera and at one point Miss Varda steps in to show Shirley how to play a scene, a suicide, which Shirley says "is not my style."
Earlier, Miss Clarke has observed: "I don't know whether I'm in a movie or directing one."  Since the audience is never in doubt, this sort of thing is simply precious.  Miss Varda goes further astray with an extended sequence devoted to the assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy, as reported and reduced to comprehensible terms on television.
At this point, you might as well turn away from the movie, which has gone glum and fake in all the wrong ways, and read an interview with Miss Varda, a five-page copy of which was given to the press by the producer. 
Among other things, she says, "Lions Love" is about stars, movies, rented houses, freedom in love, plastic flowers, freedom of final cut, trees, television and the shooting and death of Bobby Kennedy.  It is about stars and movies, all right, but it's no more about any of the other things than the telephone directory is about the names it lists.
In addition to the players already mentioned, "Lions Love" includes brief appearances by Eddie Constantine and Carlos Clarens, the film buff extraordinary (author of the excellent "An Illustrated History of the Horror Film"), who acts as Miss Clarke's walking Guide Michelin to Hollywood and narrates a delightful montage of views of Lotus Land as it is today.  There is so much that is so pleasant in "Lions Love" that I wish Miss Varda hadn't tried to give it a larger significance, which - I'd like to add at the risk of sounding chauvinistic - seems paradoxically very naive and very French intellectual.


New York World Telegram

Norman Nadel - The Theater
To hang a man properly, you divide 512 by his weight in pounds, which equals the distance he is to drop before the rope takes up.  If the drop is too short, he'll merely strangle to death.  If it is too long, his head will be pulled off.
The last time this matter was brought to the attention of an off-Broadway audience was in Brendan Behan's "The Quare Fellow," which was set in an Irish prison.  Now we have an entire musical revue dedicated to legalized killing, or capital punishment.  "Hang Down Your Head and Die," which opened last night at the Mayfair Theater, might deal with a grisly subject, but does it with such point, and with such (if you'll excuse the expression) life, that it entertains brikily as it slaps home its caustic social message.
It has the physical setting of a circus, including the uniformed band on raised platforms, playing the traditional "Entrance of the Gladiators" as the cast parades on stage when the show begins.
However it turns out to be not the entire circus but the clown show - or "clownerie," to borrow the term Joan Littlewood uses to describe her "Oh What A Lovely War," which, like this, is a revue imported from England.  The importer in the case of "Hang" is producer Marion Javits, wife of the senior senator from New York, and a woman with a keen social consciousness.
More mordant than morbid, the revue features musical numbers that set the audience swinging.  Gerome Ragni, the white-face clown who eventually becomes the man who is to die, beats out "I Want Gas" ("I want something with class") to a rock 'n' roll rhythm.
Michael Berkson, James Rado and Remak Ramsay merrily chant "An Innocent Man Is Never Hanged," as the girls in the company relate instances of executing the wrong person.  Jenny and Jill O'Hara, two absolute charmers, don exaggerated pigtails to sing "Tin Cap" (the one placed the victims' head in an electrocution), as little girls begging their daddy to let them see the executions in the movies and on TV. "Alcatraz," by George Marcy and the girls, is a socko, spell-it-out cabaret production number.
The grim humor comes forth in a variety of ways.  After a statement that Utah offers the prisoner a choice, a clown skips across stage, plucking the petals of a daisy as he sing-songs, "hanging, shooting, hanging, shooting...."
When it wants to, "Hang Down Your Head and Die" can drop the comedy and shock the audience within an inch of its life.  While describing the electrocution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, narrator Robert Jackson relates that the second shock administered to the man lasted 57 seconds.  Then there is total silence and immobility on stage for exactly 57 seconds - which seem like that many hours.  Terrifying.
The show was devised by 23-year-old David Wright while he was attending Oxford; it premiered there before moving into London and earning the London Critics Award as best revue of this year.
It is a group presentation, for which most of the company have contributed materials or styles.  Braham Murray, as director and choreographer, must be credited with the crisp, bright tone of the production, as well as held accountable for a few numbers that seem disorganized and inadequately prepared.
Obviously, feeling is not going to be unanimous about a revue which deals with hanging, electrocution, shooting, stoning, precipitation from a height, impaling, garroting, lethal gas, genocide, beheading, injection and torture.  Some theatergoers reasonably might ask, "Is this entertainment?"
Strangely enough, it is; no one will be bored, even if many are appalled.  More important, it compels its audience, whatever its attitudes, to take another look at the Sixth Commandment.

The New York Times

"On Stage:  The Battle of the Generations"
Historical plays come in two kinds: those that deal chiefly with fictitious characters and those that deal chiefly with actual personages.  Modern dramatists sometimes write the first kind - as John Arden did in "Serjeant Musgrave's Dance" - to escape from the bondage of recognizable, limiting fact.  The opposite is true of the second kind of play, such as James  Goldman's "The Lion in Winter."  With allowance for dramatic license, it is in large degree bound by fact.  It does not take the present into the past; it attempts the reverse.  Or it ought to.  And it is here that Mr. Goldman's sometimes skillful play falters.
The attractions of his story are clear.  He is dealing with the marriage and quarrels of Henry II of England and Eleanor of Aquitaine.  This is that same Henry who caused Thomas Becket's death but who, as Trevelyan says, was among those English monarchs who did "great and lasting work."
Eleanor was a strong-minded woman who married the King of France at 15, had her marriage annulled when she was 30, and then married Henry, who was 11 years younger than herself.  No sooner had her children grown than she sided with her oldest son in a rebellion against his father; so Henry imprisoned his wife in Salisbury Castle.
The Plot Unfolds
It was a coiled-spring situation, as Mr. Goldman sees, particularly since the three surviving sons were vying for the succession.  The crown, in those days, did not automatically pass to the oldest son.
Mr. Goldman has imagined that, in 1183, Henry holds Christmas Court at Chinon.  (Henry, himself born in France, was king of more French territory than British.)  To this court come the contesting sons, and here Henry brings his aging wife because he wants to use her lands as pawns in his game.
To this court comes, too, young King Philip of France...(piece missing)...were once sufficient grounds for historical plays.  Even some of Shakespeare's histories are difficult to revive, such as "King John," with the older Eleanor in it.  Mr. Goldman seems to justify his play only by its cabals and its verbal rapier-play.
But these are insufficient.  The intrigues are not particularly subtle, and they soon fall into patterns that repeat.  As for the language, although it has some wit and some enjoyable invective, it is not resourceful enough to compensate for the repetitiousness.
Further, the dialogue has a heavy admixture of the modern.  At first, when we hear phrases like "You're a failure as a father" or "Don't everybody sob at once" or "Wish me luck," we tell ourselves that they represent equivalent locutions of 1183.  Soon, because of ideas as well as words, they seem out of character, mere efforts at liveliness.  After a quarrel, Queen Eleanor says, "What family doesn't have its ups and downs?"
The characters also tend to make epigrams at one another instead of conversing.  "Always put your trust in vices."  "In a world where carpenters get resurrected, anything is possible."  The gold of these epigrams soon becomes gilt.
Last, there is another question that the author did not answer adequately before he began:  whether the biographical facts, or their reasonable extension, would provide dramatic progress and conclusion.  They do not.  The play gradually dwindles in momentum, and it ends lamely.
Note to Miss Harris
Such vigor as it has is aided by Noel Willman's theatrically knowledgeable production and by the two leading performances.  Robert Preston's hairy Henry is unsubtle but forceful, not very affecting but commandinig in presence.
Rosemary Harris's performnance as Eleanor is, in my view, a crucial point in her career.   She has most of the gifts that other actresses...(incomplete)
Photo Caption:  Rosemary Harris, as Queen Eleanor, argues with her son, Richard, played by James Rado, over his succession to his father's throne in "The Lion in Winter."  Bruce Scott and Dennis Cooney, as the younger sons, stand in rear.

The Washington Post

Washington, D.C.
"One on the Aisle" by Richard L. Coe
New York, March 29 - Glittering acting and verbal brilliance make "The Lion in Winter" a theatrical joy.
Not since Christopher Fry first dazzled with his syllabic fireworks has there been so listenable a play as James Goldman's imaginative script and not since the Lunts' latest round has there been such playing as Rosemary Harris and Robert Preston in the two major roles.
This, to New York's shame, has had a shaky start at the Ambassador Theater, but cheering and increasingly larger audiences are getting the word around.  Still, those who relish words in the theater should grab this immediately to swell the tide and not miss a rare evening.
The story concerns long-warring parents battling at Yuletide over the writing of father's will.  Which son will get what?  How is a pesky betrothal to be worked out since the fiancee of one of the boys is reluctant to stop being his father's mistress?
That father is England's Henry II, mother is Eleanor of Aquitaine, the fiancee is sister to Philip of France is one aspect of novelty.  (Yes, the same Henry but now older as in Anouihl's "Becket", Eliot's "Murder in the Cathedral" and Fry's more recent one on the same topic, title of which I forget.)
Dashingly indeed, Goldman avoids archaic language.  He has chosen timeless English and it is a triumph for the American theater that this American writes it so well.  Goldman's early interest was music and his prose is, in fact, music - Mozart in his comic vein.
Henry remarks to Eleanor, "we could tangle spiders in the webs you weave."  This might describe the complex plotting of this mother, literally imprisoned for ten years and let off for Christmas ("It's more like Lent"), who is scheming for her eldest, Richard the Lionhearted, to succeed Henry, who prefers son John.
Author Goldman forewarns:  "The people in this play, their personalities and passions, while consistent with the facts we have, are Henry's time there were no laws of primogeniture...a fact responsible for much of what Henry did.
The best role is Eleanor and Miss Harris, her speech now steel, now butter, is simply gorgeous as she schemes, retreats, compromises and initiates.  "Do ANYTHING!" she commands Richard, who swiftly does.
"How my captivity," she tells Henry, "has changed you."  Of someone she observes: "She smiled with success but she chewed with distinction."  Of her husband's mistress, whom Eleanor literally brought up, she remarks: "I'm rather proud.  I taught her all the rhetoric she knows."  Dazed again, Henry allows that he loves her and she replies: "Save your aching arches.  That road is closed."
As with Becket, Henry here must take second place to Eleanor but Preson plays his with vital, scheming relish, feeling "thoughts like molten lead" within the walls of Chinon.  Henry gives as good as he gets and the Preston-Harris duels are a joy of bravura sparring.
All of director Noel Willman's cast are excellent.  Dennis Cooney's Geoffrey is splendidly wily, James Rado's Richard sternly righteous and Bruce Scott's John boyishly craven, all fittingly differentiated as the three sons.  Suzanne Grossman makes a happy American bow as the French princess and Christopher Walken uses smiling reticence to create a distinctive King Philip.

The Boston Herald

By Donald Cragin
In the relatively short space of three years, James Rado has gone from a young man who wanted to act, to a young man with many stage appearances.  He has appeared as a wild young man in "The Knack," a love-struck perfume salesman in the musicial "She Loves Me," a gangster's bodyguard in another musical "Marathon '33," a monk in "Luther," and one of Henry II's sons in "The Lion In Winter."
Currently he appears as a minister in the new musical "A Joyful Noise," which is doing a pre-Broadway tour at the summer tents, and is currently holding forth at Framingham's Carousel Theater.  John Raitt has the lead role, playing a hillbilly folk-singer, with Rado's role that of providing a religious contrast.
Joining Rado one afternoon for a lunch at his motel, we asked him, "what next?"  The answer was guarded.  "I'd like to appear sometime in another musical, a musical I know would be great."  The tall young man stood up and paced around the room, brushed a shock of  blonde hair to one side of his long, lean face and looked out the window.
"About this musical.  What is it?" we asked.  "Well, I don't like to talk about it, but...we've written a musical."  "Who?" we asked.  Jim has a reluctance to talk about any of his roles, even his current work in "A Joyful Noise."
In fact when I told him that we had checked through The Herald drama files before coming out to see him, and had found a review of his performance in the Charles Playhouse musical "She Loves Me" that stated "James Rado, a newcomer to the company, is a young man of good looks, an agreeable singing voice and an engaging stage personality," he winced.
Another young man entered the room, carrying a bag which he set down.  We were introduced to Gerome Ragni, and after joining them with a can of beer and a sandwich ("I thought we'd be hungry," Jim said) we pried the story of the musical from them.  They have, in their spare time, been hard at work on an original musical, described as contemporary in nature and theme, a full length show, with many songs.
Ragni met Jim when they toured Chicago in "The Knack" and himself had appeared in a minor role in the Sir John Gielgud-Richard Burton version of "Hamlet."  The two have spent spare days, when possible, in writing the show.  Their reluctance to discuss it was a combination of genuine modesty and an almost superstitious attitude toward their new, complete script.
"Well, all right," in time they agreed, "you may look at it," and we read through the first few pages.  A vow of secrecy will not, I'm sure, be breached if I disclose that the script is very good, the dialogue is current without being distractingly vague, the characters are whole beings and the lyrics to the few songs we saw are bright and clever.
"Why the reluctance?" we asked.  An awareness of the vagaries of theater-luck and fortune was the answer.  "We both appeared in a very funny British revue called 'Hang Down Your Head And Die.'  It was produced by Marion Javits, Sen. Javits' wife, and the first-night audience was comprised of well-dressed society people.  Not one smile, not one joke went over.  An audience of well dressed business people had come to see a friend's show and found raw and biting satire.  Mrs. Javits closed it the next day.
"We want everything right with this.  Our agent has assured us it has a chance.  Now we spend weekends and any other spare times working, polishing it."  We said we understood what can happen in the theater, and asked about "A Joyful Noise."  There we got no comment at all, although it is known that Ben Shaktman, director, had left the show some weeks ago, that there has been no director since then, and that Dore Schary has been engaged to rework and rewrite the musical and that it will go on to Broadway as planned.
"I've been very lucky in theater," Jim said.  "I wanted to be an actor and since I left college, I've studied with the Strasbergs, and with Uta Hagen.  I've been in some very good plays, and played a diverse selection of roles.  I can't say I like one better than another, althought some have been much better and important than others."  (His last role was his most major, appearing as the oldest of the three snarlinig sons in "The Lion In Winter," which tried out in Boston and starred Robert Preston and Rosemary Harris.)
Jim has a natural modesty toward his work, but we can say, again without breaking a confidence, that there's little need for modesty in a career that is fast rising, and toward a script that is a fine finished piece of work.

The New York Times

Likable Rock Musical Moves to Broadway
By Clive Barnes
What is so likable about "Hair," that tribal-rock musical that Monday completed its trek from downtown, via a discotheque, and landed, positively panting with love and smelling of sweat and flowers, at the Biltmore Theater?  I think is is simply that it is so likable.  So new, so fresh and so unassuming, even in its pretentions.
When "Hair" started its long-term joust against Broadway's world of Sigmund Romberg it was at Joseph Papp's Public Theater.  Then its music came across with a kind of acid-rock, powerhouse lyricism, but the book, concerning the life and times of hippie protest was as rickety as a knock-kneed centipede.
Now the authors of the dowdy book - and brilliant lyrics - have done a very brave thing.  They have in effect done away with it altogether.  "Hair" is now a musical with a theme, not with a story.  Nor is this all that has been done in this totally new, all lit-up, gas-fired, speed-marketed Broadway version.  For one thing it has been made a great deal franker.  In fact it has been made into the frankest show in town - and this has been a season not noticeable for its verbal or visual reticence.
Since I have had a number of letters from people who have seen previews asking me to warn readers, and, in the urbanely quaint words of one correspondent, "Spell out what is happening on stage," this I had better do.  Well, almost, for spell it out I cannot, for this remains a family newspaper.  However, a great many four-letter words, such as "love," are used very freely.  At one point - in what is later affectionately referred to as "the nude scene" - a number of men and women (I should have counted) are seen totally nude and full, as it were, face.
Frequent references - frequent approving references - are made to the expanding benefits of drugs.  Homosexuality is not frowned upon - one boy announces that he is in love with Mick Jagger, in terms unusually frank.  The American flag is not desecrated - that would be a Federal offense, wouldn't it? - but it is used in a manner that not everyone would call respectful.  Christian ritual also comes in for a bad time, the authors approve enthusiastically of miscegenation, and one enterprising lyric catalogues somewhat arcane sexual practices more familiar to the pages of the "Kama Sutra" than The New York Times.  So there - you have been warned.  Oh yes, they also hand out flowers.
The show has also had to be adapted to its new proscenium form - and a number of new songs have been written, apparently to fill in the gaps where the old book used to be.  By and large the new numbers are not quite the equal of the old, but the old ones - a few of them sounding like classics by now - are still there, and this is a happy show musically.  Galt MacDermot's music is merely pop-rock, with strong soothing overtones of Broadway melody, but it precisely serves its purpose, and its noisy and cheerful conservatism is just right for an audience that might wince at "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," while the Stones would certainly gather no pop moss.
Yet with the sweet and subtle lyrics of Gerome Ragni and James Rado, the show is the first Broadway musical in some time to have the authentic voice of today rather than the day before yesterday.  It even looks different.  Robin Wagner's beautiful junk-art setting (a blank stage replete with broken-down truck, papier-mache Santa Claus, juke box, neon signs) is as masterly as Nancy Potts's cleverly tattered and colorful turned-on costumes.  And then there is Tom O'Horgan's always irreverent, occasionally irrelevant staging - which is sheer fun.
Mr. O'Horgan has worked wonders.  He makes the show vibrate from the first slow-burn opening - with half-naked hippies statuesquely slow-parading down the center aisle - to the all-hands-together, anti-patriotic finale.  Mr. O'Horgan is that rare thing: a frenetic director who comes off almost as frequently as he comes on.  Some of his more outlandish ideas were once in a while too much, but basically, after so many musicals that have been too little, too much makes a change for the good.
But the essential likability of the show is to be found in its attitudes and in its cast.  You probably don't have to be a supporter of Eugene McCarthy to love it, but I wouldn't give it much chance among the adherents of Governor Reagan.  The theme, such as it is, concerns a dropout who freaks in, but the attitudes are those of protest and alienation.  As the hero says at one point:  "I want to sleep in the mushrooms and eat the sun."
These attitudes will annoy many people, but as long as Thoreau is part of America's heritage, others will respond to this musical that marches to a different drummer.
You don't have to approve of the Yip-Yip-Hooray roaring boys to enjoy "Hair," any more than you have to approve of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to enjoy "Rose Marie," and these hard-working and talented actors are in reality about as hippie as Mayor Lindsay - no less.  But the actors are beguiling.  It would be impossible to mention them all, so let me content myself with Mr. Rado and Mr. Ragni, actors and perpetrators both, Lynn Kellogg and Shelley Plimpton - one of the comparatively few holdovers from the original production - who does marvels with a lovely Lennon and McCartney-like ballad, "Frank Mills."
Incidentally, the cast washes.  It also has a delightful sense of self-mockery.

The New York Daily News, April 30, 1968
New York Daily Column
By Walter Winchell
This veteran of the Broadway scene since 1920 has seen almost everything on and off a stage, but he has never witnessed anything like "Hair" which came to the Biltmore asylum last night.
It is the most exciting entertainment in town.
Tennessee Williams, Edward Albee, LeRoi Jones and other masters of four-letter-word literature are made to appear old-hat, dated and obsolete by the graffiti in "Hair."  It may force the above-named greats out of show business.
It is authentic Hippieville with a large cast of young people, many of whom are talented, attractive and naked.
The score has twenty rock-tunes that delighted the preview audience from the moment the curtain did not go up until the final curtain did not drop.
The show has no curtain on part of it. 
Nor on any part of several Adam & Eves in the finale of Act I.
Mae West, author, director, producer and star of "Sex" (decades ago) was paddy-wagoned to the 16th Precinct for being so "sinful" in that flop.
But, as a line in a "Hair" song goes, "This is 1968 not 1948!"
"Hair," besides being completely mad and orgiastic, is sacrilegious and rude to American Institutions, including Margaret Mead.
The producer and authors, however, offer the insulted some balm - when a character (representing yesterday's generation) tells the hippies: "Kids, do whatever you want to do...just as long as you don't hurt anyone."
This astonishing production gave every indication of being a smash hit.


Munich Newspaper

Musical Stars Not Allowed to Spend the Night in Hotel Amba
by Jurgen Konig
Richard Sussmeier dislikes gypsies.  When 2 longhaired men (who, by the way, had made a reservation from the airport) arrived in the lobby with a dozen suitcases, the Bavarian became very sour.
Upon being ordered to leave the hotel, Gerome became very disturbed and had to lie down on the leather sofa to calm his broken nerves.
James said this gave him a very poor first image of Munich.  He said: "I am very sad about this.  It doesn't disturb me when other people have short hair."
Photo Caption:  Gerome (right) and James needed an injection for nervous breakdown.

By Cecil Smith
Times Drama Critic
In the wake of the findings of the investigation into the happenings in Mayor Daley's Chicago last August, "Hair," I suppose, could be regarded as a kind of hippie victory dance.
And yet to think of it so would be a disservice to the highly (maybe overly) publicized "American tribal love-rock musical" that began what could be an endless Los Angeles stand Tuesday in the new Aquarius Theater created out of the bones of Earl Carroll's svelte old Hollywood glamor palace.
Because, though "Hair" is a celebration, it celebrates itself, neither with hostility nor challenge but out of its own exuberant, fresh, uninhibited sense of being.  What you really get out of this stomping, hairy, raggedy, bizarre crew is a sense of a youthful life-force that for all its pretentions and posturings is as innocent and open and unassuming as a flower.
Not Shocking
And what "Hair" is essentially is one whale of a show that explodes in a bursting panorama out of the very seams of the renovated theater to a surprisingly melodic pop-rock score by Galt MacDermot that is pure gold.
It was greeted by a star-studded, black-tie and hippie-costumed audience that tore the place apart, stopping the show repeatedly with applause and finally giving it a standing ovation.  It also created a massive traffic snarl on Sunset Blvd. which delayed the opening for an hour.
All right, there are four letter words popping like popcorn, some words that cannot be used here but mostly words like love and life.  All right, there are sexual simulations, some quite explicit, and a hymn to "Sodomy."  All right, at the end of the first act, to a haunting questioning ballad, "Where Do I Go?", a squadron of young men and women strip to the unmistakable buff in a dim half-light that hardly separates the girls from the boys while a red psychedelic beam sweeps over them, a tableau about as salacious as Renoir.  I say that with all of this, and more, those who go to be either shocked or titillated are in for disappointment; irreverent it is, and critical of things like Vietnam, and even a bit gamy at times - but shocking it is not.
Draft-Card Burning
For instance, there's a draft-card burning rite as solemn as a Shriners ceremony (and not unlike one) in which the kids dress up in gaudy flowing robes and a barefoot princess carries a brazier of fire and there are incantations and mystic chants until they discover the card  being burned is from the New York Public Library.
And in the elaborate "Walking in Space" examination of the dreams provided by mind-expanding drugs, the dream is a kind of cock-eyed, Civil War charade with a fat, bumbling Gen. Grant and a Negro female Abe Lincoln in a phony beard doing the Gettysburg Address as a slurring beat song.  It's a naive, childlike fantasy.
The most touching number in the play is a gentle unrhymed, Lennon-like song about a teenybopper in love called "Frank Mills" and sung with heartbreaking simplicity by Carol Miller.
What is "Hair" about?  There's no discernible plot save a kind of thing about two pals, Claude and Berger, who live with a chick named Sheila and whose friends include faggoty Woof, black militant Hud and pregnant, pot-smoking Jeanie.  Claude is about to get drafted and eventually does.  But that's all.
But it's about something like smog ("Welcome, sulphur dioxide!  Hello, carbon monoxide!")  It's about "white people sending black people to fight yellow people to defend the land they stole from red people."  It's Hud strutting the Negro image on a "Colored Spade."  It's about a restless, rootless generation, beaded and barefoot, rejecting current values to seek values of its own, and not here asking you to accept its values but simply saying this is how it is.
And it's about hair - "Long, beautiful, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty, oily, greasy, fleecy down-to-there hair, like Jesus wore it, hallelujah, I adore it, hair..."
Wildly inv entive director Tom O'Horgan looses his swarming melee of a cast on the girders and grids and scaffoldings of the big open-staged theater, sending performers scrambliing up iron ladders, swinging by ropes over the audience, dashing madly up the aisles, sometimes moving in the delicate precision orf ballet, again erupting in mad geysers of wriggling riot.
Coauthors James Rado and Gerome Ragni in the roles of Claude and Berger that they turned into theatrical history in O'Horgan's Broadway version of their show are superb - blond, svelte, hung-up Rado with the draft breathing on him and not about to burn his card, and wild-haired, fuzzy anthropoid Ragni hung up on nothing.  Jennifer Warren (later Jennifer Warnes) is splendid as their sweet-singing foil Sheila.  Ben Vereen's glowering Hud, Jobriath Salisbury's blooming Woof and Teda Bracci's freaked-out Jeanie are all the parts required, and I was impressed by the singing of Gloria Jones and the aforementioned Carol Miller.
In the theater that producers Michael Butler, Ken Kragen, Tom Smothers and Ken Fritz have formed from the famous old nightclub (to the tune of around $250,000), a proscenium is formed of light grids on which laundry hangs and Robin Wagner has contrived a brilliant setting out of hub caps, chrome bumpers, garbage cans and the like, and behind which the original American Flag with its circle of 13 stars makes silent comment.
While there is very little left of the Rado-Ragni plot from their original off-Broadway show, their lyrics are extraordinary.  But the most moving lyric in the show, and perhaps the most beautiful song, is "What a Piece of Work Is Man?" for a play called "Hamlet" by a man named Shakespeare.



The Los Angeles Times, December 5, 1968
OPENING OF "HAIR"      Photo of Richard Chamberlain
"Hair" should be called "Heat."  At least judging by opening night.  L.A.'s new Aquarius Theater, which houses the Butler-Kragen-Smothers-Fritz presentation of the Broadway love-rock musical was steaming hot - so hot that many in the audience found it uncomfortable to applaud.  I was among them.
We applauded anyway, but somebody had better tell Tommy Smothers to turn on the air conditioning.  And to start on time.  The audience, arriving for a 7:30 curtain, had to wait over an hour for the first marvelous, hip-squalid signs of life.
Apart from the heat and the halt, "Hair" proved as delightful as a draught of Mouton Rothschild on a very cold night.  It travels better, in fact, and ages as well.  It has been slightly updated.  One of the posters in the energetic musical protest march, newly lettered, reads, "Nixon is Rosemary's Baby."
The cast, happily, hippily headed by writers Gerome Ragni and James Rado, makes this still the best of the rock musicals by far so far.  The score, by Galt Mac Dermot, doesn't detract one whit from the controversial dialog and doings.  (I suppose Tommy Smothers may have left off the air conditioning in order to keep those naked men and women - there were a dozen of them - warm.)
As for the audience, it was hard to decide which was the most interesting couple.  Richard Chamberlain came with George Le Maire, and Irwin Allen trailed down the aisle just a giant step behind Groucho Marx.  It was that kind of night.  George Furth was with Bobo Lewis, Barbara Parkins with John Phillip Law, Robert Vaughn and Lee Marvin were by themselves, as was Hugh O'Brian, all wrapped up in a blue velvet high-collared quasi-Edwardian jacket - even though Hugh came with a date.
Half of Laugh-In was there - Jude Carne, Jo Ann Worley, Dick Martin, the George Schlatters, Ed Friendlys - and both of the Smothers, Tom and Dick.  CBS was there: it probably had to be, or the Smothers wouldn't go on on Sunday night.  Handsome group president John (oh-is-he-handsome) Schneider came with West Coast chief Perry Lafferty and his wife Fran.  Sonja Henie came late, attracting attention, as always, this time with a powder blue mink jacket dyed to match her blue beaded dress.
It was wild, with a party afterwards in a tent on Sunset Blvd.  Everyone was there, even Liberace.  I kept wondering how Liberace liked the show.


1970 article about "Hair" in the Toronto Telegram.


The Telegram
Toronto, Monday, January 12, 1970
By Pat Annesley
Telegram Staff Reporter
It was one of those nights that wasn't supposed to happen, but it did.
Whoever heard of a theatrical opening on a Sunday night?  In Toronto.  In January.  When it's 20 degrees and snowing, and not a bar open in town.
Hair opened last night anyway.  This is the American tribal love rock musical that schedules its openings - 18 cities to date - according to the stars, and the stars said Jan. 11 in Toronto.  (The international Hair organization has its own astrologer.)
Hair opened.  And 1,496 people filled the Royal Alex to see it.  Nine hundred of them went to the big party afterwards thrown by the producers at the Royal York.  And the whole evening was an eye-popping, ear-popping, floor-thumping smash.
Hair opened.  And Clive Barnes, the theatre critic in North America, flew in from New York and said:  "I love it.  This is the best Hair I've seen, and I've seen it in London and Paris and New York.  This is the hairiest Hair Yet."
They flew in from Los Angeles, too.  And Las Vegas and Chicago and San Francisco.  And they said:  "Hey man, Toronto is great.  This is a swinging place you've got here."
Hair, as almost everyone in the hip opening-night crowd was aware, is a show that adapts itself to whatever city it's playing.  All the cast is always local, the 3 extra numbers and lines that are thrown in a production tend to have a local flavor, and the script and staging are so loose that it tends to come out a whole new Hair in every town.  That's the whole idea - a reflection of the way it is, with youth and the Establishment, music and love, and war and peace.  Here.
So the out-of-towners came and said:  "Wow."  And the Torontonians looked at one another and they said:  "Well, yes.  Come to think of it, Wow."
And Toronto's new image, the thing they're always writing about in the newspapers but nobody really believes, got a sudden, galvanized shot in the arm.  On a Sunday night, too.
Sure there were the ones at the party who said  "Great show yeah. But I gotta get out of here.  God, I need a drink."
But most of them stayed and stayed.  The producers had laid on a lavish buffet, an excellent rock band and soft drinks for all.  Coca-Cola everywhere and not a drop to drink.  And it mattered less and less as the night wore on: The crowd was high on Hair.
After that wild, pulsating show, it had to be a party where even the beautiful people forgot about their baubles and beads and lost themselves on the dance floor.  Silver heels fell off $40 shoes, and they laughed and danced in stocking feet.
Stars from the show joined in jamming with the band.  You couldn't find anybody you were looking for in the mob, and you didn't much care.  
And strangers hugged one another.
It was a night to remember, but nobody will remember much beyond the usual wing-ding kaleidoscope, little spots of color here and there.
Like the yellow Rolls-Royce parked in front of the theatre.  It was an old one, a dazzling museum piece.  Whose was it?  Would he get a ticket?  It was Gaston's, the guy who runs the restaurant on Markham St. with the great onion soup.  And he did.
So did the other Rolls a few yards up the street, a new white one.  So did the Jaguar sandwiched between them.  It seems the policeman was under pressure from a group of hapless diners at Ed's Warehouse, who chose last night for a quiet dinner out then couldn't get their cars out of the parking lot because the show had started and the crush was on.
(part missing)
The theatre itself was one of the stars of the night.  From the beginning the Hair people had said "this is our theatre," and if they could they'd move it brick by brick to Boston and all the other places where Hair is yet to come.
And what they did with that monument to Victorian opulence may have come as a shock to some of the Alex regulars, but it worked.  As they say in show business.
Then at the party, there was Gale Garnett, the female lead, in a flowing white see-through caftan that had every flashbulb in the place popping.
She was dancing with a little boy on her shoulders.
There was Tobi Lark, the sensational singer who was hurt onstage a couple of weeks ago, covering her tightly-bandaged leg with a shimmering Afro-robe and high-rising turban to match that she made herself.  Bandages or not, she was one of the first to leap up on the bandstand and get into the impromptu session.
There was the irrepressible Rudy Brown whose line "I feel good" never fails to break them up, gyrating across the room in a shiny Nehru suit.  And the tall African-looking dancer with his flowing headband, doing a real Watusi, looking as though his head was attached by a rubber band.  And all the beautiful young Hair girls in simple, bra-less splendor.
The beautiful people were outclassed but they didn't seem to mind.  It was the cast's night, and everybody gave it to them.  They won it.
A well-known promoter about town was heard to say:  "If Glen Warren (Glen Warren Productions of Toronto is co-producing the show with Michael Butler, head of the international Hair organization) wants to sell out half their action, I'll take it."
His companion's comment:  "Are you kidding?"
$7,000 PARTY
This is the most expensive Hair ever staged.  Up to last night it cost $260,000, including $7,000 for the party.  The costumes, props and lighting are far more elaborate than in other cities, and cost about double the tab for the New York production.
It is also the first theatrical production in Canada ever to get past $200,000 in advance bookings.  It passed that milestone while the show was still casting last fall, and the figure is now up around $500,000 and still climbing.
Businessmen kept talking about how "they're going to make a pile on this."
People in show business kept going back to the sets and the costumes, and how "they spent a pile on this."
And a man named Richard Osorio, who holds the title of El Cid in the peculiar nomenclature of the international Hair group, which means he's next down the line from number one Silver Indian Michael Butler, kept trying to figure out what was really special about this Toronto production.
Osorio travels the world seeing Hair productions, and the three best he's seen, he said are San Francisco, Chicago and Toronto.
San Francisco has this special "ensemble" character, where nobody's a star and the whole company "moves as one."  That's their thing.
Chicago is the gutsiest show going, where the cast has actually attacked the audience in its challenge to them to participate in the happening, to get with this coming age of Aquarius they're singing about.
"And Toronto...Toronto is somewhere in between.  When I first came here I thought this was the San Francisco of the north.  But really you're very conservative, like Chicago.  Yes the show says it for you: Toronto is a place where both kinds of people can live.  It's a groovy thing all its own.


Washington, D.C. review of  HAIR, 1995 National Tour, directed by James Rado



This was a well reviewed show that sold out 98% of it's performances from July 16 thur August 31, 2008. I played "Ronnie"  -In the Center of the pic and on the Poster/Flyers below.  I had the privilege of singing Aquarius; What A Piece of Work Is Man, White Boys and Abie Baby and as seen below I Started Let The Sun Shine In.  HAIR was a life-changing show for me and our tribe THE WAPPINGER FEDERATION TRIBE is looking forward to our upcoming Winter Be-In later this month!

Thank you for the music!


Make love, not war

'60s musical resonates with modern audience

By Karen D'Souza Mercury News

Article Launched: 07/27/2008 01:35:13 AM PDT

Far out, man. The Age of Aquarius is dawning once again at the City Lights Theater Company's galvanic revival of "Hair."

While it comes as no surprise that some aspects of this vintage 1960s anthem seem charmingly dated (the raunchy lyrics, for instance), it's deeply unsettling just how much of the musical cuts to the core of American culture today.

"Hair" resonates with a country once again embroiled in the battle to save the environment and the terror of a generation sent off to fight a questionable war. The revolutionary hippie musical still rocks surprisingly hard, especially in City Light's groovy production, which has been extended through Aug. 31.

"Hair" remains famous for harnessing the raw power of the youth movement on the Broadway stage, and director Lisa Mallette reprises that vibe in her insanely raucous production. A huge fresh-faced cast decked out in tie-dye T-shirts and gypsy prints surrounds the audience, passing out flowers and blowing bubbles in utopian bliss before the show even begins.

This is the tale of flower children coming of age at a time when the world was coming apart. Berger (Noel Carey) burns his draft card. Claude (Joseph Banks) doesn't. That single choice haunts the longhaired hippie tribe as it takes to the streets of the East Village, urging the world to make love, not war. Psychedelic drugs, utopian ideals and the exuberant optimism of the young hold the community together.

Shannon Stowe's vibrant choreography lights the stage with unchained kinetic energy, especially in the infamous full-frontal nude scene that closes act one.

While not all of the singers soar as high as they might, and the acting isn't as nuanced as it should be, the musical numbers that pop are explosive enough to blow the roof off the theater. From the iconic "Aquarius," sung by the dynamic Michelle Ianiro, to the lovely ballad "Frank Mills" (Raime Banks) and the irresistibly propulsive "Let the Sunshine In," this show has an infectious love for the material that sucks the audience in from start to finish.

Mallette clearly intends the Vietnam War protest scenes to echo the conflict over Iraq. The "it's a dirty little war" refrain starkly reminds us that not all nostalgia is of the pleasant variety. The bubbly ditty "Air," with its warning of environmental devastation on the horizon, also gives a modern audience pause. This sobering social subtext grounds the feel-good musical in the serious issues that divided the nation then, even as they do now.

But make no mistake, this rollicking musical makes its political points through the joyous mechanism of voices raised in song and bodies flung in perpetual motion. In fact, the show's flashback finale invites everyone on stage for a very trippy little "Be-In." Now is the time to get your summer of love on. Be there or be square.



Theater Zone 2008 Florida


Naples Only professional Equity theatre company's
production of HAIR was just named one of the top 5 theatrical experiences of 2008!

"HAIR," June 12-22, TheatreZone, 13275 Livingston Road, Naples, (239) 451-0215,

Easily the most under-appreciated show anywhere in Southwest Florida last season, the shambolic, shaggy and thoroughly enjoyable "Hair" hit the stage in early summer when there was virtually no audience to enjoy it. Ryan James and Shane Daniel Lord were the yin and yang of this merry band of free love children who sang their way through the summer in some of the most free-spirited, giddy and effervescent performances of the year.


New Line Theatre, St-Louis 2008

Produced by New Line Theatre, running Sept. 11-Oct. 18, 2008
"This is New Line's third production of Hair in less than ten years, and you know why from the moment you smell the incense. Director Scott Miller has a wonderful feeling for this material; his production delivers the hippie world with sensual precision. It comes through in the exotic aroma, in the eye-popping set designed by Todd Schaefer, in the era-exact costumes by Thom Crain and the dreamy sound of Chris Petersen's six-man rock band. Most of all, it comes through in the cast, an ensemble known as the Tribe." - Judith Newmark, St. Louis Post Dispatch

"Hair at New Line Theatre is unexpectedly, beautifully, joyfully, mournfully, tragically relevant again. Gerome Ragni and James Rado have turned out to be poet-prophets and their book and lyrics are given life by Galt MacDermot's eclectic rock score. . . I'm happy that New Line chose to produce Hair because I'd never seen it live; I am sorry that it can't just be a celebration of the 40th anniversary of the show but that it still has so much relevance. See it to celebrate, to mourn, and finally to celebrate again for there is hope and light and no matter how hard 'they' try, they cannot 'end this beauty'." - Andrea Braun, PlaybackSTL

"Scott Miller knows this material well, and his skilled direction keeps the action flowing and the actors focused. The tribe is well cast, and seem completely comfortable with one another. And they make a marvelous sound harmonizing together on this catchy score. Thom Crain's costumes add a nice air of authenticity. Chris Peterson's work on piano and conducting the small ensemble is impeccable. The band provides a solid pulse to this electrified revival meeting." - Chris Gibson, KDHX-FM

"Hair is not so much a musical as it is an invocation, a sort of vision quest designed to shake you out of your torpor and make you think. Let's describe it as 'a group of people with strange clothes and a shared faith in nebulous concepts who make strange proclamations about society's ills' - are we describing hippies, the religious right, the secular left or the military's press conferences on the war in Iraq? Regardless of what you think you are, Hair challenges your perceptions. A kaleidoscopic, mandala-esque painting on the stage provides a locus for the characters to dance and sing and poke fun at the world outside the theater. And there is a lot of fun" - Paul Friswold, The Riverfront Times

"Much smoke is blown, and much adolescent naughtiness is waved like a banner. But just to see the glowing idealism on the faces of fine actors like Khnemu Menu-Ra, Aaron Lawson and others is somehow astonishing in this age of bitter disappointment and gloom, and to hear the folksy and dramatic songs of Gerome Ragni, James Rado and Galt MacDermot  raised so beautifully is a great pleasure. . . . For the generation of psychedelic awakening and sexual revolution, this lock of Hair is a sentimental touchstone and a heart-warming bit of modern Americana." - Richard Green,
Hair Broadway - Buy Tickets

Jim's Journal

Good Morning America Friday
[ June 24th, 2009 ]
Hair podcast with Jim

[ June 15th, 1009 ]
American Soldier
[ April 24th, 2009 ]
Broadway Tribe on Letterman
[ April 24th, 2009 ]
Time Out New York tribe pictures
[ March 12th, 2009 ]